The Case of the Lifeless Lothario
by Sly M. Cogan
Summary: Perry Mason agrees to defend a woman he overheard plotting to murder her boyfriend, a womanizing business man, while on a train ride from New York to California.
1. New York to California

"The Case of the Lifeless Lothario" 

_Based on characters created by Erle Stanley Gardner  
and on the TV series produced by Dean Hargrove and Fred Silverman  
_  
Roses. Red, beautiful roses. The color of the flowers perfectly matched the color of Helen Carmichael's cheeks.

Helen accepted the bouquet that had been left for her at the train station in Illinois with glee. She smiled as she carried the flowers through the fresh air outside of the station, pacing alongside the waiting train. Still blushing, her cheeks went well with the tight red sweater she was wearing, but only served to create a deep contrast between her red cheeks and her long, dark brown hair.

"I told you he loves me," said Helen, smiling at her two friends and traveling companions, Kay and Natalie. Kay Silvers was a skinny young woman with fair skin and black hair. Natalie Culp was a shockingly beautiful young woman with tan skin and blonde hair. They both looked at Helen with disdain.

"Don't get so excited," said Kay. "He's never had a girlfriend he  
didn't buy a dozen roses for."  
"But they're beautiful!" gushed Helen.  
"Of course they are," said Kay. "I'm not saying they aren't. I'm just saying don't get so excited over them. He's not really giving you any special treatment he hasn't given each one of his ex's."  
"She's right," said Natalie. "They're really beautiful. And they're really expensive. But Bill Anders can certainly afford them."  
"What do you want me to do with them?" asked Helen. "Just throw them  
away?"

"Don't throw them away," said Kay. "Keep them. They'll keep you  
company on the trip."  
"Just enjoy the gifts while you get them," said Natalie. "Don't think they'll last forever."

Helen hugged the bouquet of roses against her ample breasts.  
"But I want them to," she said. "I really want this to last forever."

Kay and Natalie both rolled their eyes at their friend.  
"Helen," said Natalie. "I think you're forgetting that I used to go out with Bill Anders. He seems really great at first. But trust me, in the end he turns out to be a jerk."  
"But I thought you said you were O.K. with my seeing Bill," whined Helen.  
"No," insisted Natalie. "I was against you dating him from the very beginning. I just said that if you did want to keep seeing him, I wouldn't hold it against you."

Helen just kept smiling and admiring the roses.  
"You girls are both wrong about Bill," she insisted. "He's changed."  
"Think that if you want," said Kay. "Just be careful. Bill Anders breaks women's hearts. It's his hobby. And once he breaks a woman's heart, that woman always has a hard time getting over it. He already had to put a restraining order out on one of his ex-girlfriends."  
"I just don't want to see you get hurt," insisted Natalie. "When he breaks up with you, which he will, I don't want you to have a hard time getting over him."

Helen took a deep breath to inhale the aroma of the flowers.  
"Don't worry," she said softly. "I won't have any trouble getting over him."

Perry Mason peered over the top of his newspaper at the three girls. He found the news much less interesting than the thousands of examples of human nature at its deepest complexities all around him. The three women were a prime example. Mason had seen close-knit women like them before. They were usually as thick as any band of thieves. They were the kind of women that might do anything for each other. Even cover up a murder.

Mason laughed at the absurdity of the notion. The three women were bound from New York to California, just as he was. Helen, Kay, and Natalie were all aspiring models, from what Mason could gather, who had just been meeting with a big agent in New York. Whether or not the agent had approved of them, Mason could only guess. Mason only knew that if he was the agent, he would have approved of them.

Anyway, their meeting seemed like it would have been much more interesting than his had been. A legal convention in New York. Guest speakers and luncheons. And lawyers. Lots and lots of lawyers. Mason enjoyed the company of his colleagues, but he felt happy to be among people of a wide variety of careers once again. Unfortunately, Mason's boredom did not end with the convention. The train ride back to California was for the most part uneventful and almost mind numbing.

Oh, well. There were the girls. The three seemed to be arguing over a bouquet of flowers the brunette had received. Mason had a feeling they would at least be interesting to travel with. Then, in the pit of his stomach, Mason had a feeling this train ride might become some how eventful yet.

He looked again at the bouquet of flowers. Interesting.

> > > > > >

A very similar bouquet of flowers sat on the dresser next to the bed in Rowena Taylor's hotel room. The roses swayed back and forth from the activity nearby.

The activity ceased to the jaunting sound of a ringing telephone. A plump female hand reached up and lifted the receiver.

"It's for you, lover."

Bill Anders pushed away the blankets with a groan. He steadied his breathing as he snatched the phone from Rowena.

Bill Anders was definitely handsome. With broad shoulders and a muscular build, it wasn't difficult to recognize the figure of a former high school and perhaps college athlete. Instead it was difficult to recognize the look of total dishonesty in his face. It had to be, or he would never have been able to get this far with this many different women.

"Hello?" said Anders into the telephone, almost failing to hide his irritation.  
"I loved the flowers, Bill."  
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah. I thought you would." The pleasantly plump woman beside him grabbed onto his shoulder, forcing Anders to look into her eyes. She wasn't even trying to hide her irritation.

"Bill? Is everything all right?" said Helen's voice over the phone.  
"Everything's perfect," said Bill, hiding any emotion in his voice.  
"I miss you," said Helen.  
"Yeah. Me, too," replied Bill.

"Who is it?" asked Rowena. The look of intensity in Bill's eyes quieted her.

"I can't wait to see you again," said Helen.

"I know," said Bill. "I feel the same way. Where are you now?"

"Illinois," said Helen. "I should be in Chicago tomorrow night. We can meet there."

"Do we have to?" asked Bill. "Business is finished here, and you'll see me back in California..."

"I can't wait that long," whined Helen. "I really miss you."

"All right, dear," said Bill. "Whatever you want."

"Who is it?" hissed Rowena again, more impatient than before.

"Shut up!" Bill hissed back, carefully placing his hand over the receiver.

"At Harris's," said Helen. "That's your favorite Chicago steak house, isn't it? You can buy me dinner there. I'll meet you around 8:00."

"Sounds perfect," said Bill.

"Bill Anders, I love you," said Helen.

"I love you, too," said Bill. "I'll see you soon, dear."

Bill hung up.

"Who was that?" Rowena asked once again.

"Just a business associate," said Bill. He could tell from the look in Rowena's eyes that she didn't believe him. Bill sighed. "To tell you the truth, it was another woman."

Rowena laughed, obviously still not believing him.

Bill pressed his lips against Rowena's and pressed her back down into the bed.

> > > > > >

Helen Carmichael was shaking with excitement as she prepared for her date with Bill Anders. It had been over a week since the last time she had seen her beau, and she was anxious to spend a romantic evening with him.

Kay Silvers and Natalie Culp still tried to voice their disapproval of Anders, but being close friends to Helen, they did not hesitate to help her choose the make-up and hair appropriate for her date.

It was 9:30 when Helen made it to the entrance of Harris's, but she felt certain her date wouldn't mind. She would just blush and apologize and...

Helen froze in the doorway when she spotted Bill. He was sitting at the bar, necking with a blonde who could not have been a day over 18 years old.

> > > > > >

Bill Anders had arrived at exactly 9:00. If anything, he expected Helen to be early. He should have known better. He then expected her to be up to fifteen minutes late. But as he sat there waiting, Bill began to wonder if Helen was worth waiting for. She was very attractive. She was going to be a model, after all. And she was someone that people enjoyed being around. But she wanted a serious relationship. Commitment. That was the one thing that Bill Anders was ready to avoid at any cost.

Then temptation appeared in the form of a young blonde at the bar. Bill couldn't resist flirting. After a few minutes of simply exchanging seductive glances, Bill took a seat next to the blonde and began to seriously turn on the charm. He found her interesting. And when he began to believe Helen was simply not going to show, he decided the evening would not have to be a total loss.

Bill and the blonde were still kissing when he spotted Helen, wearing a ruby red smile and her favorite black cocktail dress. Bill quickly untangled himself and rose to explain himself to Helen. She wouldn't wait for an explanation. She just ran as fast as her feet would carry her out of the steak house, letting the wind blow the door closed with a SLAM behind her.

> > > > > >

Perry Mason was trying to focus on the Agatha Christie novel before him, but the repetitive clanking and clacking of the railroad train around him, combined with his boredom over the long journey, was starting to loll him to sleep. Mason yawned and rested his head on the wall behind him. He then realized he could hear sounds coming through it.  
There was first the sound of loud, uncontrollable sobs. Then he heard a familiar voice.  
"There are a few simple ways to get revenge."

"Like what?"

"Poison his goldfish."

Laughter was heard over the tears. He recognized the first voice as the tanned blonde he had seen the other day.  
"A little bit of cyanide would do the trick," said another voice. "Or maybe you can just take that stupid pet and flush it down the toilet." That was the voice of the black-haired girl. Mason was becoming so engrossed with the conversation, he completely forgot that he was eavesdropping.

"Let's leave the goldfish out of this," said the blonde's voice. "The fish didn't do anything wrong."

The sobbing quieted, but it still had not completely stopped.

"We warned you, Helen," came another voice, this one a voice that Mason had never heard before. "This is what Bill Anders does to women. We just didn't want to see you hurt like this."  
"Are you sure it was really Bill?"

"Of course it was," said Helen. "I'd know him anywhere."  
"Who was the girl?"  
"Some young high school girl," said Helen. "I'd never seen her before. I'm not sure Bill ever did, either."

"What exactly were they doing?"

"They were making out," said Helen. "Making out like lovesick teenagers."

"You could glue his lips shut," said the black-haired girl.  
"How could she do that?" said the other girl.  
"Fix him a bowl of chowder or a sandwich or something like that," said the black-haired girl. "I'm sure that he'd eat it. And just add plenty of super glue to it."  
"Or shred his Barry Manilou collection," suggested the tanned blonde.  
"Or steal his left shoe and replace it with a fuzzy bunny slipper," suggested the other woman.

There was laughter. The sobbing stopped, but it was replaced with a voice dripping with loathing and determination.

"None of that's good enough," said the voice. "He has to die. I'm going to kill him. The Saturday night I get back, he's going to be all alone at his house. His maid doesn't work Saturday nights. He gave me a key to his front door. I can get in while he's still fast asleep. I'll use that letter opener I got him. The jeweled letter opener that I bought him for his birthday. I don't know why I ever bought him that thing. I'll use it. It will be so ironic. I'll take that stupid letter opener, and I'll come in while he's sleeping, and I'll shove it through his heart. Right through his heart. He'll pay for what he did to me. I swear, I'm going to kill him. He has to die."

Mason shuddered at the determination in Helen's voice. He suddenly snapped back to reality. Trying to shake himself out of the mood Helen's ominous voice had created, he shrugged off the conversation he had overheard and let tiredness overcome him.

As Perry Mason pulled down his bunk to climb into bed, he heard Helen Carmichael's voice repeat, "He has to die."


	2. Trying to Prevent a Murder

The train came to a stop at the station in St. Louis, Missouri .

Most of the passengers were eager to get out of their cramped quarters and step off the train for fresh air. Perry Mason was one of them. He inhaled the sweet air slowly, enjoying the cool breeze.

As he looked around him, Mason noticed Helen Carmichael stretching before taking a seat on a park bench across from the train station. Mason reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of quarters, all the time keeping his eyes on Helen. She didn't seem to notice. Mason inserted the quarters into the metal box containing the local newspaper while making his decision about what he should do. The practical thing would be to just remain uninvolved. But Perry Mason very rarely did the practical thing.

Taking his newspaper, Mason walked over to where Helen was seated.  
"Excuse me," he said. "May I sit here?"

Helen looked up, just blinking for a moment.  
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said at last. "Go right ahead."

Mason gently lowered himself to the spot next to Helen. He began to unfold the newspaper, carefully choosing his next words. Finally, he selected an article and began to read aloud: "Enraged farmer murders wife. This morning, the St. Louis police heard a confession from farmer Steve Doogan. Doogan admitted to the beating and murder of his wife, Rachel, nearly one week earlier..."

"Funny, the number of people who think they can get away with murder," he mused, just loudly enough for Helen to hear him. Helen remained silent. "I wouldn't do it if I were you."

Now Helen looked at Mason in shock.  
"What are you talking about?"  
"Attempting murder," said Mason. His voice was smooth and sure, not at all excited or bothered. He simply made it a statement of fact. "That is what you're planning, isn't it?"  
"How could you possibly...?"  
"I'm sorry," said Mason. "I have the compartment next to yours on the train. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop. It's just that the walls are much thinner than either you or I knew."  
"What exactly did you hear?" said Helen, her beautiful face turning a shade whiter.  
"Enough," said Mason. "'He has to die.' 'The jeweled letter opener that I bought him for his birthday.' ' I'll shove it through his heart.' 'I'm going to kill him.' I take it the 'him' would be Bill Anders, the man who sent you those roses you and your friends were admiring the other day."  
"What is this?" asked Helen weakly. "You're not trying to...? You're not black-mailing me, are you?"  
"Black-mail?" said Mason. "Good Heavens! I hope it hasn't come to that. I couldn't really black-mail you unless you actually had killed him."

"Or you knew I was going to kill him."  
"Are you?" asked Mason. Helen rose from her seat. "I'm sorry," said Mason hastily. "I didn't mean to offend you."  
"Look, Mr...?"  
"Mr. Mason."  
"Look, Mr. Mason, I'm not sure what you want in all of this, but that conversation was between me and my friends. Now, what is it that you want, anyway?"  
"I want to help," insisted Mason. "That's all. As a concerned friend."  
"Are we friends?" asked Helen.  
"I was hoping we could be," said Mason. "You're plotting murder. I'm just trying to advise you, as a friend, that you'd never get away with it."

"What do you mean?" asked Helen.  
"The police have become so advanced with everything now,"said Mason. "Fingerprints. Hair samples. Blood stains. You'd leave a thousand tell- tale signs."  
"I'll wear gloves," said Helen.  
"Gloves can only do so much," said Mason. "What are you going to do for an alibi?"

"Alibi?" said Helen. "Do you think I need one? I mean, the police will never suspect me in the first place."  
"They will if I tell them about the conversation I overheard."  
"You wouldn't! I mean, you're not going to tell them, are you?"

Helen's face turned into a lovely pout. She looked so innocuous at this point that it was hard to believe she was the same woman Mason had heard vehemently plotting to shove a knife through another human being's heart.

"I'm not going to tell anyone anything," said Mason. "I'm just trying to talk you out of something you'd regret."  
"You seem like you'd be very good at talking people out of things," said Helen. "You know, Mr. Mason, maybe you should be a lawyer."

Mason laughed.

"Actually, I am a lawyer," he said. "My name is Mr. Perry Mason. I'm a relatively well-known criminal defense attorney." He extended his hand. Helen clasped it gently.

"Helen Carmichael," she said. "I think I've heard of you. On the news. You're very good at what you do."  
"Thank you," Mason said simply.  
"I'm afraid you've failed to make your case this time, though," said Helen. "My mind's already made up."  
"You mean you're seriously considering murder?"  
"Bill Anders has to pay for what he's done to me."  
"It would be much better for you if you had an alibi," said Mason. "When evidence points to you, which it will, it will only be a matter of time before you appear in court. And I know from experience that it's very difficult to put up a good defense without a decent alibi."  
"How would the prosecution build a case against me?" asked Helen.  
"Simple," replied Mason. "Physical evidence. Eyewitness accounts, perhaps. And if someone was to tell the police of the falling-out you had with Anders..."  
"No one will, Mr. Mason," said Helen. "The only people who know about the relationship I had with Mr. Anders are me and my best friends. And you. But you said yourself that you want to be friends."  
"I do," said Mason. "And, as a friend, once again I am going to ask you to put this silly idea out of your head. Bill Anders isn't worth this. Lovers fight and break up. I'm sorry for you, but these things happen all the time. You'll get over it. You'll move on. Trust me. Murder is not the answer."  
"I'm sorry, Mr. Mason," said Helen. "But there's nothing you or anyone else can say to change my mind. I'm going to kill Bill Anders." Her voice was beginning to show signs of the grim determination Mason had heard in it the other night. "Good bye, Mr. Mason."

Mason cleared his throat, stopping Helen in her track before she could walk away. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small business card.  
"You'd better take this, just in case," he said as he handed his card to Helen. She took one brief look at the card before shoving it in her pocket and walking away.

> > > > > >

Perry Mason and Helen Carmichael didn't speak for the rest of the trip. Occasionally Mason would see Helen, alongside Kay and Natalie, and acknowledge her with a slight nod. Most of the time it seemed she didn't even notice.

Helen, Kay, and Natalie seemed content, though. Young women that had their whole lives before them. They gossiped and told jokes and fussed with their make-up. They looked like any young women would. Not at all like conspirators to murder. This eased Mason's mind a little.

Still, the silence between Mason and the girls seemed unbearable at times. Mason could easily understand that Helen didn't want to talk to him. But the ride was a long one, stretching over a period of weeks, and to receive the silence treatment for that long seemed cruel at times. Yet Helen appeared happy. It seemed like she had forgotten all about her murder plot. But Mason could not shake off the memory of the grim determination he had heard in Helen's voice.

Finally, the train arrived in California. Mason was relieved that his long journey was finally over. He came off the train with a smile.

As Mason claimed his baggage, he noticed Helen Carmichael passing by. "Mr. Mason," said Helen gently, giving the lawyer a polite nod. "Good luck, Ms. Carmichael," said Mason, shaking Helen's hand. For a moment, her eyes held some sort of pleading look. As if they were begging him to try once more to persuade her out of danger. The look soon passed. Helen nodded again before walking off.

Mason realized there was nothing more he could do for Helen. He could not answer that plea in her eyes. He did not, however, want to leave the situation at that. If Helen Carmichael was plotting a murder, Perry Mason was going to do everything in his power to prevent it.

On an impulse, Mason picked up a thick copy of the Yellow Pages from within a tollbooth and scanned the business section for Anders & Anderson.

> > > > > >

"Is Mr. Anders in?" Mason asked the receptionist outside of Bill Anders' office.

"Do you have an appointment?" asked the receptionist.

"I'm afraid I don't," said Mason. "But my business with Mr. Anders will only take a few minutes."

"Mr. Anders isn't here at the moment," said the receptionist. "You may talk with Mr. Anderson if you'd like."

"No thank you," said Mason. "It's critical that I talk to Mr. Anders."

"What is your business with Mr. Anders?"

"It's personal," replied Mason. "I'm an old friend of Mr. Anders', and I think he'd really like to hear what I have to say."

"I'm sorry," said the receptionist. "But Mr. Anders won't be in for another hour. I'll tell him you were here. Is there a name or a number...?"

"Just give Mr. Anders this," replied Mason, removing another business card from his coat and handing it to the receptionist.

> > > > > >

The next afternoon, Bill Anders invited Perry Mason to his estate. Mason found Anders behind the house, firing off clay pigeons and aiming at them with his shotgun.

"Thanks for having me, Bill."

"No problem," said Anders. "I enjoy class reunions. It's not everyday that an old high school chum comes looking for me, wanting to have some kind of talk."

"I haven't really missed you all that much, Bill."

"I'm sure you haven't, Perry. Now what's all this you want to talk about? You've got my whole business into a stir. They think I'm in some kind of legal trouble now. Getting business cards from famous lawyers."

The whirring of a clay pigeon shooting through the air interrupted the conversation. Anders took aim. There was a loud gunshot, and when the smoke cleared, Anders had missed. "Oh, well," he said to himself. "Better luck next time."

Anders looked up. "So, Mr. Perry Mason," he said. "It looks like you've done all right for yourself."

"I could say the same about you," said Mason.

"I don't think there was much doubt in my case," said Anders. "I was the captain of the football team. I was dating the captain of the cheerleading team. Meanwhile, you were the geek sitting on the sidelines, trying to make revision to an article for the school paper. It looks like that whole law school thing worked out for you after all."

"And business school for you?" said Mason. "I never expected you to become a committed man of business. Now you're the head of one of the most successful businesses in California.

"In America," corrected Anders.

"How did you stumble into that?"

"Well, let's just say finding a career in the NFL never exactly worked out."

"Other than that, you haven't changed a bit since high school," said Mason. "Still cocky. Still arrogant. Still thinking you're invincible."

"And still getting all the women," added Anders. Another clay pigeon whirred across the sky. This time, Anders' bullet managed to clip it. "Would you like a try?" asked Anders, offering the shot gun to Mason.

"Not right now," said Mason. "I'm trying to talk to you, Bill."

"Then talk," said Anders impatiently.

"This lifestyle's not healthy, Bill," said Mason. "Waving money and muscles in front of impressionable women, than taking them away. Women aren't toys you can just take and break as you choose. If you treat them like they are, one might just try to do something about it."

"If I needed a lecture, I'd talk to my parents," said Anders. "Is that all you wanted to talk about?" Anders took a shot at another flying target and missed once again.

"Bill, suppose I told you someone was trying to kill you."

Anders' expression didn't change at all.

"I wouldn't be that surprised."

"I'm being serious," said Mason. "Suppose I've heard from an unnamed source that someone was going to try to kill you. Saturday night, when the maid has the weekend off."

"Really? And who is it that's going to try to kill me? Another business man?"

"A young lady friend."

This time, the gun went off before the clay pigeon had even launched. Anders did his best to look unruffled as he reloaded his weapon. "I have a lot of young lady friends," said Anders. "Could you be more specific?"

"You can't go around breaking hearts like you do," said Mason. "You should know that when you play games with as many different women as you do, at least one of them is going to snap."

"Who is your unnamed source?" asked Anders.  
"You should know I can't tell you that," said Mason. "It would be unprofessional of me."  
"So you're saying a scorned woman is going to try to kill me?" said Anders. "That wouldn't surprise me. It's happened before. Repeatedly. I get all sorts of crazy threats."  
"What if this was more than a threat?" asked Mason.  
"Are you sure that it is?"

Mason hesitated.  
"No," he finally said.

Anders laughed and took a shot at another clay pigeon.  
"I'm just trying to help you," said Mason. "As a courtesy to a former school mate. Now I'll take that gun after all."

Anders handed his shotgun to Mason. As a clay pigeon flew into the air, Mason aimed carefully, pulled the trigger... The pigeon exploded into a hundred pieces. Mason handed the gun back to Anders.

"My advice," Mason said. "Be careful. You've made too many enemies. If I were you, I'd start making apologies, right now."  
"Thanks for the advice," said Anders. "It was nice seeing you again, Perry."  
"Good bye, Bill."

Mason shook Anders' hand and left.


	3. Hell hath no fury

**Monica100****_ – Wow! It sure puts a lot of pressure on having a long time fan of the TV series review. If you're still reading this, I sincerely hope this doesn't dissapoint you.  
_  
**It took a few days of lounging around at home and a few nights of deep, uninterrupted sleep for Perry Mason to recuperate from his long journey. On Monday morning, a week after he returned from his trip, he finally felt ready to return to work. 

"Morning, chief!" was the hearty greeting from Della Street, Perry Mason's faithful secretary and friend. Mason felt truly at home seeing Della's smiling face once again.  
"All right. Out with it, Della," said Mason. "How many lawyers have gone in and out of this office since I've been gone?"

Della Street looked sheepish as she rattled off a quick list of Mason's legal friends and a brief description of the puzzling cases they had taken in Mason's place.

"A shame," said Mason. "All the most interesting cases seem to take place while I'm gone."

With that, Mason clicked on the television set in his office. The screen immediately lit up with the morning news.

"In other news today, police have identified a suspect in the murder of local big business owner Bill Anders."

Mason froze as he recognized two figures on the TV. One was of the crotchety old chief detective of the L.A.P.D. Homicide Department, Lieutenant Tragg. The second was the beautiful young figure of Helen Carmichael. Mason watched in shock as Lt. Tragg led Helen towards police headquarters.  
"Helen Carmichael, Bill Anders' recent flame, was taken in for police questioning earlier this morning. At this time, police refuse to reveal the evidence that led to Miss Carmichael's arrest.  
"Bill Anders, along with his associate Jack Anderson, was a founder and owner of Anders & Anderson, a California finance institute. Police found Anders dead late Saturday night. More updates are sure to come soon. We will keep you posted."

Mason slowly began to loosen up. Gazing calmly at the screen, he said softly, "I stand corrected. Della, call police headquarters and make sure Lt. Tragg expects me."

> > > > > >

Lt. Tragg turned his as usual sour glare towards Mason.  
"You're here about Helen Carmichael?" Mason nodded. "What do you want to know?"  
"Perhaps you'd better just start from the beginning."  
"Saturday night, at about 11:00, one of our officers entered the household of Bill Anders. After checking the main story of the house and finding no one, our officer climbed the stairs to Anders' bedroom. He there found Anders lying in his bed in a pair of royal blue pajamas. Anders was dead. A fancy, jewel encrusted letter opener had been shoved clear through his heart."  
"What was your officer doing in Anders' house in the first place?"  
"We received an anonymous letter about a week ago," explained Lt. Tragg. "The letter stated that the writer was a concerned citizen who had overheard Helen Carmichael plotting to murder Bill Anders. It described the plot in very specific detail. We didn't take it seriously at first. Thought it was some kind of crackpot hoax. All the same, we like to do our duty around here. That's why an officer was asked to check up on Anders' place Saturday night, the date that was mentioned specifically in that letter. When nobody answered the officer's knocking, he found the door unlocked and went in."  
"And on the evidence of that letter, the letter you yourself thought was a crackpot hoax, you took Helen Carmichael in for questioning?" said Mason.  
"The details in that letter are similar to the facts of the murder, Mason," said Lt. Tragg. "Uncannily similar. And we received that letter about a week before the murder even took place. There's no way that can be a mere coincidence."  
"Was there a return address on the letter?" asked Mason.  
"There's usually not on an anonymous tip-off," said Lt. Tragg.  
"Then you have no idea if the writer is a reliable source," insisted Mason. "For all you know, the writer may have fabricated the plot altogether. For all you know, perhaps the writer of the letter even went through with the plot for him or her self. The person who wrote that letter just might have killed Bill Anders."  
"You are such a lawyer, Mason," groaned Lt. Tragg.  
"I'm simply starting to prepare a defense," said Mason. Lt. Tragg just rolled his eyes. "Have you questioned Helen Carmichael about the letter yet?"  
"Yes, I have," said Lt. Tragg. "She denies everything."

That's reasonable, thought Mason. She should have been honest. It would have been better if she had just been honest. But under the circumstances it was perfectly natural for her to be scared and lie.

"All the same," continued Lt. Tragg, "we're formally charging her with murder."  
"Do you have a motive?" asked Mason. "I heard on the news that Helen Carmichael was being referred to as a recent girlfriend of Bill Anders'."  
"Helen Carmichael readily admits that," said Lt. Tragg. "She denies stabbing the guy. She denies even talking about killing the guy. But she doesn't deny the two were dating. And she doesn't deny that the two had a recent falling-out. I know all about Anders and the reputation he has when it comes to girls. Everyone in California does. You know what they say. 'Hell hath no fury...'"  
"'...As a woman scorned,'" finished Mason. "On just the evidence of an anonymous letter, you are formally charging Helen Carmichael with murder?"  
"Oh, no," said Lt. Tragg, grinning defiantly. "We've got more. Much more. We found a tube of lipstick on the floor of the victim's bedroom."  
"You said yourself that you know of Anders' reputation when it comes to young women," said Mason. "Any young woman could have dropped that tube of lipstick in Anders' bedroom." Lt. Tragg shook his head.  
"Not this one," he said. "This one has Helen Carmichael's fingerprints all over it."  
"Inconclusive," said Mason.  
"If you're going to practice your defense," groaned Lt. Tragg, "please try it on someone other than me for a change. I tell you, according to the evidence we have, that tube of lipstick is very conclusive."  
"Anything else?"  
"Yes. Footprints."

"What kind of footprints?"  
"A woman's footprints," said Lt. Tragg. "They were all over Anders'  
front lawn. Made by a pair of high-heeled shoes. Size 8."  
"And?"

"And Helen Carmichael wears a size 8."  
"I see," said Mason. "Did you find a pair of muddy shoes that matched  
the prints belonging to Helen Carmichael?" "No," said Lt. Tragg. "But that doesn't mean anything. High-heel shoes don't leave easily identifiable prints. The girl could have washed the shoes off and hid them with the rest of her collection. Or she could have disposed of them somewhere. The important thing is that the prints were her size." "Was there anything else?" asked Mason.  
"The piece de resistance!" insisted Lt. Tragg. "When our officer went  
in to check on Anders', the door was unlocked, but there was no sign of breaking and entering. We assume that the killer had a key to Anders' front door. Helen Carmichael has such a key."  
"All circumstantial evidence," said Mason. "Prosecution will never be able to build a case."  
"That's not what the D.A. says."

Mason was shocked. He had known Hamilton Burger, the district attorney, for years. It wasn't like him to stand behind such a foolish case.

"I hope you realize Helen has the right to refuse to answer any  
question without her attorney present."  
"She's using a state appointed attorney," said Lt. Tragg. "A Mr..."  
"You can tell whoever he is that he may go now," said Mason. "I'll take it from here."  
"You're this girl's attorney?"  
"Well, she is carrying my business card."

> > > > > >

Mason sat in a hard wood chair across from Helen Carmichael, having asked Lt. Tragg for a few moments alone to confer with his client.  
"Mr. Mason, I did not kill Bill!" cried Helen. "I swear I did not kill him."  
"I believe you," said Mason. "At least, I want to believe you. I wouldn't be talking to you right now if I didn't."  
"They say that someone sent them a letter," said Helen. "Someone told them about how I was talking about killing Bill. A concerned citizen. You heard me talking about it. Was it you who sent the letter?"  
"Don't be ridiculous," said Mason. "I told you that I wasn't going to tell anybody about that. And, besides, do you honestly think I'd be here trying to defend you if I had written that letter?"  
"Oh, I don't know what to think now!" Helen lamented.  
"Calm down," said Mason. "I've been doing everything I could to try and help you since we met. That's not going to stop now. Now, the police questioned you about your plot?"  
"Yes," said Helen. "I told them I didn't know what they were talking about. Did I do the right thing?"  
"I'd never call lying to the police the 'right thing'," said Mason. "You should have just been honest with them. They just want to get the facts, They're just as interested in finding the truth as we are." "What should I do now?"  
"Best not to change your story for now," said Mason. "If you admit you were lying, it can only make us look bad. But from now on, I suggest that you stick to the truth. Speaking of the truth, I want to get something clear right away. You told me nothing was going to change your mind about killing Bill Anders. Did you kill him?" He looked directly into her beautiful blue eyes.  
"I already told you, 'No'," said Helen. "I talked about it. That's all. I was hurt. I needed to vent the anger. So I made up a plot to kill Bill for what he had done to me. But it was a long train ride. And the more I thought of it, the more I was willing to just get over it, like you said I would. That's the truth. I swear."  
"Well, whether or not you went through with the plot, obviously somebody else did," said Mason. "I need to know who wrote that letter. It seems unlikely to me that someone else would just overhear that plot. Who did you tell your ideas about killing Bill Anders to?"  
"Just my closest friends," said Helen. "You can't tell me one of them wrote the letter. They've been my best friends since we were little girls. And we all understand that what's said between us, stays between us."  
"All the same...," began Mason.  
"You really think one of them wrote the letter?" said Helen. Mason nodded. "I just can't believe any of them would betray me like that."  
"We need to look into all possibilities," said Mason.  
"Kay Silvers, Natalie Culp, and Susan Cook," said Helen.  
"I know Miss Silvers and Miss Culp," said Mason. "I don't know Susan Cook."  
"She's another close friend of mine," said Helen. "She was meeting the head of a modeling agency, too. Only her agent was in Chicago. We met her at the train station there. But, seriously, I'm pretty sure that Kay, Natalie, and Susan would never tell our secrets. Especially this one."  
"Was there anyone else you told this secret to?" asked Mason.  
"Oh, yes," said Helen. "There was Jack, too."

"Jack?"  
"Jack Anderson. Bill's business partner," said Helen.  
"How much did you tell Jack Anderson?" said Mason.  
"He took me out for dinner after we all arrived back in California,"  
said Helen. "I told him about how Bill and I had broken up. And we were laughing and joking and I kind of, just jokingly, told him about what I had said about killing Bill. Just to vent out the anger. Talking about it made me feel better. But I didn't tell him as much as I had told Kay, Natalie, and Susan. Just the basics. Just that I was going to kill Bill while he was sleeping in his pajamas by stabbing him in the heart with that letter opener."  
"On Saturday night?"  
"On Saturday night. Oh, Mr. Mason, this doesn't look good at all, does it?"  
"Apparently not to the district attorney," murmured Mason. "One thing seems clear to me. If you didn't kill Bill Anders, someone who knew about your plan did. I don't think that letter was from a concerned citizen. I think it was someone who killed Bill Anders and is trying to frame you for it."  
"But you mean..." Helen's mind turned again to Kay, Natalie, Susan. And even Jack. She just looked at Mason in shock.  
"I ask you again," said Mason. "Who knew about your plot to murder Bill Anders?"


	4. The Suspects

**Singing Wolf-_I've been waiting for someone to ask about the setting. I've been trying to avoid mentioning a specific year, but I think of this as a modernized version of the Perry Mason series. I've been actually picturing a young Raymond Burr in modern day, but the older Raymond Burr would probably work just as well and make even more sense.  
_  
**When Perry Mason returned to the estate of Bill Anders, a young police sergeant at the door met him. Mason introduced himself and quickly explained that he had a court order authorizing him to inspect the premises.

"What are you looking for?" asked the sergeant.  
"Anything that might help clear my client," answered Mason simply.

The sergeant led Mason into Anders' study.  
"Don't touch anything," the sergeant barked hastily.  
"Don't worry, officer. I know the routine," said Mason. He quickly glanced over the office. A computer on a hard oak desk. An issue of the Wall Street Journal. A heavy paper weight. Several business papers. Nothing that seemed important at the time.

Mason's examination of Anders' bedroom turned up just as much. A king-size bed. A nightstand. A couple of dressers. Mason was looking for something that would lead him to believe his client was either wrongfully accused or guilty after all. Nothing in the room pointed to either conclusion. Mason thanked the officer and exited the house.

> > > > > >

An hour later, Mason was standing at the door of a much smaller house. Mason rang the doorbell and heard the chime echo through the small house. A few minutes later, the fair-skinned, dark-haired Kay Silvers was standing at the door in a black tanktop and tight jeans.

"Miss Silvers?"  
"I'm sorry," said Kay. "But whatever you're selling I'm sure I already have."  
"I'm not trying to sell anything," said Mason. "My name's Perry Mason. I'm the attorney representing Helen Carmichael. May I come in?"

Kay held the door wide open, permitting the lawyer to enter. He stood in front of a chair in Kay Silver's living room and admired Kay's figure as she walked into the room and took a seat on her sofa. After she was comfortably seated, Mason took a seat as well.

"You've heard about the murder of Bill Anders?"

"I have," replied Kay. "I was Helen's one phone call. And she told me to pass the news on to Natalie and Susan."  
"And did you?"

"I did."  
"You know of the details of Bill Anders' murder?"

"Basically, yes," said Kay. "He was killed in his sleep. In his bed. Someone came into his house and stabbed a jeweled letter opener through his heart."

"Just like Helen Carmichael threatened to do," said Mason. Kay looked at him in shock. "I was on the same train as the four of you were."  
"And you heard us talking about killing Bill Anders?" Kay asked. Mason nodded. "Are you going to bring that up in court?"

"I don't see how that would do me any good," said Mason. "I'm the attorney for the defense."  
"Then why did you bring this up?"

"Somebody went through the plot to kill Bill Anders exactly like you girls discussed," said Mason. "Don't you find that a little bit odd?"

"Helen didn't kill Bill Anders, Mr. Mason," said Kay.  
"I wouldn't be defending her if I thought she did," said Mason. "How about you? Do you believe Helen killed her ex-lover?" Kay shook her head emphatically.  
"Not Helen," she said. "She could talk about it, but I don't believe for a minute she could actually do it. She didn't have it in her."

"Apparently someone did," said Mason.  
"You've lost me," said Kay. "I thought you just said you didn't believe Helen was a killer."  
"I don't believe Helen Carmichael killed Bill Anders," said Mason. "But did you?" Kay laughed.  
"Are you accusing me of murder?"

"I'm just considering the possibilities," said Mason. "You discussed the plot with Helen."  
"So did Natalie and Susan," Kay quickly added.  
"Any one of you could have gone through with that plot, then."  
"Bill broke up with Helen, not me," said Kay. "Why would I want to kill him?"

"To get revenge for Helen," said Mason. "The way I see it, you're such close friends that if one of you hurts, you all hurt. It occurred to me that you might kill Bill Anders to make Helen happy."  
"Why does it have to be someone who knew about Helen's plot?" asked Kay. "It could just be one big coincidence."

"I don't think so," said Mason. "The police received an anonymous tip-off a week before the murder was committed. It described Helen's plot in detail. I think whoever gave the police that tip-off went through with the plot for his or her self, planning on leaving Helen to take the blame."  
"First, you suggest I might have killed Bill Anders' for Helen's sake," said Kay. "Now, you're suggesting I'm trying to have Helen arrested for killing Bill Anders. You can't have it both ways."  
"You do have a point," Mason admitted. "Perhaps the writer of the letter really was a concerned citizen, though. You could have written the letter to warn the police Helen was considering murder, and then someone else might have killed Bill Anders. Is that what happened?"  
"I wouldn't waste my energy," said Kay. "I'm not so sure I'd be that upset if Helen did kill Bill Anders. If anyone deserved to die like that, it was Bill."  
"Perhaps it happened the other way, then," said Mason. "Perhaps a concerned citizen wrote the letter, and then you killed Anders."  
"I said he deserved what he got," said Kay. "I didn't say I had strong enough feelings against the jerk that I'd kill him. It's just that I wouldn't stick my neck out to save the guy. But, seriously, what would my motive be for murder?"  
"You have me there," said Mason. "Mind giving me some ideas?"  
"I can't think of a single one, Mr. Mason," said Kay. "I'm just not that kind of girl."  
"What kind of girl aren't you, Ms. Silver?" asked Mason. "A kind that suggests psychotic plans? A kind that talks about poisoning goldfish?"  
"No fair!" said Kay. "You are taking a piece of a conversation you had no business hearing, and you are taking it way out of context!"  
"But whoever killed Bill Anders had to have taken part in that conversation," insisted Mason. "The killer had to know all of the details of the plot Helen Carmichael talked about. Now, I have to ask you one more time, Ms. Silver, did you kill Bill Anders?"  
"I didn't kill Bill Anders," said Kay. "And neither did Natalie. And neither did Susan. And certainly neither did Helen Carmichael. You might want to talk to Natalie, though. If anyone can tell you about Bill, it's Natalie. They used to date. Now, do you have any more questions?

"Just one," said Mason. "The coroner puts Anders' death somewhere between 6:00 in the afternoon and 9:00 at night. Where were you during that time?"  
"Do I really need an alibi?"  
"It might be helpful." "If I need one, I can just say I was at the Red Hotts Club. And so can Natalie and Susan and Helen if it will help."  
"Perjury has harsh penalties, Ms. Silver," said Mason.  
"What do you mean?"

"Perjury. Lying under oath. I am not going to let any witness for the defense commit perjury."  
"Then what kind of lawyer are you?"

> > > > > >

Natalie Culp was wearing a similar outfit to Kay's when she answered her door.  
"My name is..."  
"Perry Mason," said Natalie. "I know who you are. I've seen you on TV and in the paper. Come in."

Once Mason had entered, Natalie asked him, "So, what are you doing here?"

"I'm defending Helen Carmichael."  
"I figured that," said Natalie. "How is Helen paying for you? A much cheaper lawyer could get her off just as well. She didn't kill Bill Anders."  
"I don't think she did, either," said Mason.  
"It's not think, Mr. Mason," said Natalie. "It's know. I know Helen Carmichael didn't kill Bill Anders."  
"And how do you know?" asked Mason.  
"Because, Helen Carmichael's like a baby sister to me," said Natalie. "I know what she is and isn't capable of. She's capable of getting very, very angry. She's capable of throwing tantrums and shouting curses at people that offend her. But she isn't capable of murder."  
"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" said Mason. "They may help me build my defense."  
"Make it quick, Mr. Mason," said Natalie. "I may have more important plans."  
"Such as?"  
"Actually, I just think saying that sounds better than telling you the truth. And the truth is I was either going to go out shopping or stay home and turn on a soap opera. So much for helping destroy stereotypes of the modern woman."  
"I'd really appreciate it if you'd talk to me, Ms. Culp," said Mason. "It will be a big help to Helen."  
"I'm talking to you right now," said Natalie.  
"I'm glad," said Mason. "This is our situation. A week before Anders was stabbed to death, the police received an anonymous letter. The letter described in precise detail how Anders was going to die. It mentions Helen Carmichael by name. That is going to be the prosecution's biggest help."  
"But it's obviously a frame," said Natalie.  
"That's going to be my defense," said Mason. "The only problem is, I know the details in that letter were true. I heard you and Helen discussing that plot on the train ride from New York to California, along with Susan Cook and Kay Silver."

Natalie was silent for a moment, softly nodding her tanned head up and down and digesting the information.  
"I see," she said at last.  
"Here's the point, Ms. Culp," said Mason. "If Helen didn't kill Anders, someone else who knew about that plot did."  
"Then you have to include yourself as a suspect," said Natalie. "Because you heard that conversation without any of us knowing about it..."  
"That's not exactly true," interrupted Mason. "I commented on the plot to Helen shortly after I overheard it."  
"And you are more likely than Kay, Susan, or I to have revealed that plot to the police," finished Natalie.  
"Why is that?" asked Mason. "Because," said Natalie. "Kay, Susan, Helen, and I are really close friends. We all understand that what's said between us, stays between us." Mason thought back for a moment, remembering hearing Helen Carmichael say the exact same thing. "But I have no motive for killing Anders," said Mason. "What does that have to do with anything?" asked Natalie Culp.  
"I thought we agreed that letter to the police was part of a plot to frame Helen for murder," said Mason. "If that's the case, whoever wrote that letter also stabbed Anders to death."  
"Fair enough," said Natalie. "But I don't have a motive to kill Anders, either."  
"Yes, you do," said Mason. "You and Bill Anders used to date."

Natalie was struck silent again for a moment. She quickly laughed, a breathy, seductive laugh, to cover the awkwardness of the moment.  
"Almost every woman in California has dated Bill Anders at some time or other," said Natalie.  
"Does that include Kay Silver or Susan Cook?" asked Mason.  
"No," said Natalie. "That didn't stop Anders from flirting, though. Man, did he make passes!"  
"Before or after you dated him?" said Mason.  
"Before, after, and while," said Natalie. "I can't believe I dated him as long as I did before realizing what a creep he was."  
"I take it it wasn't a friendly break-up, then," said Mason.  
"I would have sooner killed him than look at him again, if that's what you mean," said Natalie. Then she thought about what she had just said. "I want you to know that I didn't mean that literally."  
"I didn't take it literally," said Mason.  
"Then by the same token you shouldn't take the murder plot Helen, Susan, Kay and I contrived literally."  
"Whether or not you meant that conversation literally," said Mason, "somebody really did put that plot in to practice, in a very literal way."  
"Are you trying to suggest that it was me?"  
"I did consider the possibility."  
"I'll admit, right after I broke up with Bill, I had dreams of killing him, in all sorts of ways. Once or twice, I did consider taking some sort of long, sharp object, and inserting it into his heart. If only he had one. I even made jokes about it, just like Helen did. It helps with the healing process."  
"Then you no longer harbor any ill will against Anders?"  
"I wouldn't say that," said Natalie. "I had the dreams right up to when he died. Especially since I knew he was going to treat Helen the same way he treated me. In fact, when I first heard someone had finally put the S.O.B. out of his misery, I would have celebrated if only Helen hadn't got herself involved in all of this."  
"Did you kill Bill Anders?"  
"No!" cried Natalie. "And you've got some nerve even asking!"  
"You have two very good motives," said Mason. "You suffered a nasty break-up with Anders. And you had a close friend that you didn't want to see go through the same pain."  
"A little late for that," said Natalie. "Helen and Anders already suffered a nasty break-up before the creep had a knife crammed through his arteries."  
"But it still might have helped Helen's suffering if someone took revenge for her," said Mason.  
"But if that was the case," said Natalie, "I wouldn't try to frame Helen for the murder. Even if I was killing Anders for my own personal reasons, I would never consider doing anything that would leave Helen with the blame."  
"Then perhaps you did kill Anders and someone else wrote the letter," said Mason. "Someone who was concerned for Bill Anders. Or concerned that Helen might do something she'd later regret. Either way, the letter had to be written by someone who knew of Helen's plot. The murder had to be committed by someone who knew of Helen's plot. I'm not sure yet whether or not the murderer and the letter writer were the same person."  
"I didn't write the letter. And I definitely didn't kill Bill Anders," said Natalie. "Like I said, what was spoken between Kay, Susan, Helen, and I stays between Kay, Susan, Helen, and I."  
"Just one more question, Ms. Culp," said Mason. "That is, if you don't mind answering it."  
"That depends entirely on the question, Mr. Mason," said Natalie.  
"Where were you between 6:00 and 9:00 on the night Anders was killed?"  
"I was having dinner at LeFontaine's," said Natalie. "The whole time. Susan and Kay were with me. And so was Helen."  
"Ms. Culp," said Mason. "You're an awful liar. I'll see you in court."

> > > > > >

When Susan Cook answered the door, Mason was embarrassed to see that Susan wasn't dressed at all like Kay and Natalie had been. In fact, Susan wasn't dressed at all. She was merely wrapped in a bath towel.  
"I'm sorry," said Mason. "My name is Perry Mason. I'm..."  
"You're Helen's lawyer," said Susan. Mason immediately recognized the voice as belonging to the other woman he had overheard on the train that fateful night. "I know already. Come in, Mr. Mason."

As Susan led Mason inside, Mason took the opportunity to admire the girl. She was extremely tall and thin, and she had long, curly, blonde hair. Tiny droplets of water were streaming down the long, curly strands and running down Susan's soft, delicate skin.  
"Excuse me one minute, Mr. Mason," said Susan, disappearing into the hallway. She appeared a brief moment later, this time wearing a bathrobe so thin and sheer that it was more revealing than the towel.

"How did you know I was defending Helen?" asked Mason.  
"I just got off the phone," said Susan. "With both Kay and Natalie. They warned me about you. They said you were on your way to grill me as a suspect."  
"That's not quite true," insisted Mason. "I'm just trying to get my facts straight. The prosecution's main tool is..."  
"An anonymous letter to the L.A.P.D.," said Susan. "I know. Kay and Natalie told me all about it."  
"Then they gave you a brief description of what was in that letter?"  
"A detailed account of the conversation Natalie, Kay, Helen and I had on the train from Illinois to California. It mentioned that Helen had said she was planning on letting herself into Anders' house Saturday night, sneaking in on him as he slept, and shoving a letter opener she had given him as a birthday present through his cheating heart."  
"Did Kay and Natalie also happen to warn you that I had overheard that conversation?"  
"In so many words," said Susan. She then added, "Natalie thinks you wrote that letter."  
"Natalie's wrong," said Mason. "If I had written that letter, there's no way I'd be acting as an attorney for the defense. That letter's going to be my biggest obstacle in court."  
"You think I wrote that letter?"  
"I think you might have."  
"Well, you're wrong, Mr. Mason. I didn't."  
"It had to be someone that knew all about the conversation you girls had on that train. That leaves either you, Natalie Culp, or Kay Silver."  
"Or Helen herself." Mason tried not to show his shock. The other girls had denied this possibility immediately. "Don't get me wrong, Mr. Mason. I love Helen. You don't have to worry about me saying anything incriminating against her in court."  
"But you think Helen might have actually committed this murder?"  
"She probably did," admitted Susan. "She's a nice girl, but she can be such a self-important priss at times. I mean, she can get really nasty."  
"Even capable of murder?"  
"She said right out that she was planning on stabbing that stupid playboy. She sounded really nasty about the whole thing. I wouldn't be surprised if she was finally pushed over the edge."  
"But what would she have gained from warning the police about what she  
was going to do ahead of time?"  
"I didn't say she wrote that letter," said Susan. "It could be just what it seems like. Somebody was worried about Bill Anders and sent that letter so that when Helen struck the murder could be prevented. But apparently the police failed."  
"Do you have any idea who wrote that letter?"  
"None."

"Yet you still deny writing that letter yourself?"  
"I do," said Susan. "That conversation was a secret between Kay, Natalie, Helen and I. You know. Girl talk. I know when to keep my mouth shut, Mr. Mason."  
"Then that leaves Natalie and Kay. They're the only other two people that knew about Helen's plot."  
"And Jack Anderson," Susan quickly added. "As soon as we arrived in California, Jack offered to take Helen out to dinner. She told him all about our conversation then."  
"She told you about this?"  
"She told all of us," said Susan. "I told her she should have just kept her mouth shut. That's Helen's problem. She's a big-mouth. And she'll trust anyone. Her relationship with Anders shows that."  
"You weren't happy about Helen's seeing Bill Anders?"  
"No," said Susan. "None of us were. But unlike the others, I didn't try to tell Helen she shouldn't see Bill. She needed to learn a lesson for herself. She can't just keep throwing herself at any man that buys her a flower or two."  
"I take it Helen and you haven't always got along the best."

"We haven't," said Susan.  
"Then is it wrong for me to suggest you might have sent that letter and then killed Anders yourself just to frame Helen?"  
"It is wrong," said Susan. "Helen and I might not always see eye-to- eye, but we're still friends, and I still love her. I did not betray her secret, and I would not do anything to hurt her. Is there anything else you have to ask me?"  
"Yes," said Mason. "Where were you between 6:00 and 9:00 the Saturday  
night Bill Anders was murdered?"  
"I was in bed," said Susan. "You aren't going to ask me who with, are you?"

"Just tell me it wasn't Kay Silver, Natalie Culp, and Helen Carmichael," said Mason.  
"It wasn't," said Susan. "But I can say it was in court if the need arises." She smiled wickedly. "That would be kind of funny actually. I bet it would embarrass the heck out of Helen."

Mason admired Susan's gorgeous figure one more time before heading for the front door. As he reached for the knob, he suddenly thought of something and whirled around.  
"Ms. Cook," said Mason. "Bill Anders has had several girlfriends before Helen Carmichael. Isn't that right?" Susan nodded. "Ms. Cook, how do you feel about gossip?"

> > > > > >

Mason greeted the familiar receptionist at Anders & Anderson before being permitted to Jack Anderson's office.

"I'm planning on keeping the Anders in the business title," Anderson was saying over the phone. "Of course. As a sort of memorial to Bill. But I think we should change the title to Anderson & Anders now. Never mind. I'll call you back later." He hung up the phone and then turned to face the doorway. "Mr. Mason! What can I do for you?"  
"I'm representing Helen Carmichael in court."  
"So I understand,"said Anderson. "I know what you're going to ask. Let me save you the trouble. Helen did tell me she was planning on murdering Bill."  
"She did?"  
"Yes," said Anderson. "She told me all about it. Well, at least the basic details. She told me she wanted to wait until he was sleeping and then shove the letter opener through his heart. And while he was in those stupid, royal blue pajamas of his. She got a real kick out of that."  
"When did you have this conversation?"  
"About a week ago," said Anderson. "Helen and her girlfriends had just arrived back in L.A. Since Helen was a close friend of Bill's, I met her at the train station and offered to buy her dinner. I took her to Slam Duncan's, the sports bar and grill. She told me that she and Bill had a nasty fight and were breaking up. She then talked about how she and her friends had come up with an entire plan for murdering Bill."  
"Did you believe her?"  
"Not at the time," said Anderson. "Of course, not at the time. I thought she was just joking. She even laughed about it. It never crossed my mind that a beautiful young woman like Helen Carmichael could be a psychotic killer."  
"How about now?" asked Mason. "Do you believe Helen really did kill your partner?"

"Now that I think about it," said Anderson, "it certainly is possible. The murder was committed exactly the way Helen said it would be. And I've certainly seen women that Bill has dated get upset. He had a restraining order put out on one because she kept following Bill around with a shot gun after they broke up."

"Can you remember a name?"

"I'll never forget," said Anderson. "Christy Kevins. Her name was Christy Kevins."

"Mr. Anderson," said Mason. "The L.A.P.D. received a letter about a week ago. It warned them about Helen's plot to kill Anders. Do you know who might have written that letter, by any chance?"

Anderson just looked confused.

"No clue," he said. "It could have been anyone around Helen and I at  
Slam Duncan's. I wish I'd paid more attention to the faces at the tables around us now."  
"Thank you, Mr. Anderson," said Mason. "That's all the questions I have for you right now. Except for one. Where were you between 6:00 and 9:00 the night your business partner was murdered?"  
"I don't remember doing anything special between 6:00 and 7:00," said Anderson. I think I might have gone for a walk. But all the time from 7:00 to 9:00 I was at an important dinner convention for the company. I gave a speech that lasted from 7:30 to 8:00. I'm sure everyone there remembers it. Does that help you any, Mr. Mason?"  
"It might," said Mason. "Thank you again."

As Mason turned to leave, he was stopped by Anderson's voice.  
"Mr. Mason," said Anderson. "Just supposing Helen did kill my partner. I still hope you get her off. Anders deserved what he got. I'm the best friend Anders ever had. We were like brothers. And even I think he deserved what he got."

> > > > > >

Mason collapsed into his most comfortable chair when he arrived back at his office.  
"How did it go?" asked Della.  
"They all deny writing that letter," said Mason.  
"And who wouldn't," said Della. "Considering your theory that the same person that wrote that letter killed Bill Anders."

"I think we're going to need more suspects," said Mason. He pulled out a list of names he had made while talking to Susan Cook. "Della, you've heard of Anders' unique relationship with women, haven't you?"

"Of course I have," said Della. "He's dated women ranging from top movie stars to the poorest girl in L.A.'s poorest slum. Many of his relationships, and his subsequent break-ups, have made the front page of super market tabloids."

"Then all of these women had motive to kill Anders," said Mason, looking again at the list. Della peered over his shoulder.

"You're not going to question each one of those women yourself. Are you, Chief?"

"Of course not," said Mason. "I'm going to need..."

"Right on it, Chief," said Della. "I'm dialing the Paul Drake Detective Agency even as we speak."


	5. Paul Drake's Suspects

_Disclaimer – I do not own any rights to the characters or trademarks of Perry Mason. This is intended strictly as a tribute to the series_

**A/N – _Due to a lack of reviews I have gone back and completely revised this chapter. Please let me know what you think._**

**Singing Wolf – _I've been trying to keep the formatting neat, but it's hard when uploading the story to this site messes it all up. I'll try harder to keep everything neat this time.  
_  
**Paul Drake, the private investigator, took several long, deep breaths of fresh air. He looked at the list in his hand. What had Perry Mason hired him for now? Drake's task seemed simple at first. He was to interrogate the women on the list as suspects in the murder of Bill Anders. He was to prove that these women, like Mason's client, had motivation to murder Anders. But if all of the women had the same kind of information as the women Drake had crossed off the list already, this was going to make for one long and boring case.

Drake took another look at the list. He was a little bit surprised at the next name. He even wondered if it was some kind of mistake. But the note Mason had jotted beside the name made it very clear. Hanna Sharp. Multi-platinum recording artist. _Well_, thought Drake. _This should be interesting._

> > > > > >

Hannah Sharp wasn't at her multi-million dollar home, which was a sharp contrast to the smoke-filled apartment Drake had crossed the last name on his list off at. Even through the tall iron gates, Paul Drake noticed the severe magnitude of the mansion, the three-story garage next to it, and the Olympic size swimming pool nearby.

The electronic voice told Paul Drake that Hannah Sharp was not in. That she was out filming scenes for a new music video. The voice refused to notify Drake of where the video was being filmed. Oh, well. One of those temporary setbacks private eyes are used to.

Drake could hear the upbeat rhythm of modern pop blaring from the studio as he waited outside. From the glare the security guard was aiming at him, Drake had his doubts about ever seeing Hannah Sharp.

His doubts were unfounded, however, because after a few moments, sure enough, Hannah Sharp walked out of the studio carrying Paul Drake's business card. Another security guard was hot on her heels.

"You wanted to see me?" asked Hannah. She was a seductive beauty with short blonde hair, just barely brushing her smooth, well- tanned, bare shoulders. She was wearing a neon orange bikini top and a pair of short-shorts, and her already seductive lips were painted bright red with high-priced movie studio make-up. Drake felt a surge of heat, causing him to nervously loosen his necktie.  
"My name's Paul Drake," he said. "I'm a private eye."  
"That's what it said on your card," said Hannah. "It also said this was a matter of life and death. Please, tell me this isn't just some sick way to get my autograph."

"It's not," said Drake. "This very well could be a matter of life and death. I'd feel more comfortable talking about this to you alone." He looked at the two over-sized goons, who just continued to glare at him.  
"Is that necessary?" asked Hannah.  
"I'd just feel more comfortable," responded Drake. Without saying a word, Hannah just gave a look to the security guards. The two thugs immediately sauntered off.  
"Now, then," said Hannah. "What is this all about?"  
"I'm working for Perry Mason," said Drake.  
"The famous lawyer?" said Hannah. "I've seen him on the news."  
"He's representing Helen Carmichael," said Drake.  
"I know who that is, too," said Hannah. "She's the girl who killed Bill. Bill Anders, I mean."  
"She's the girl the police think killed Bill Anders," corrected Drake. "Perry Mason thinks they're wrong."  
"I'm not so sure about that," said Hannah. "And if this is about saving the life of that little murderess, I'm not so sure I want to help after all." She started to stand.  
"Ms. Sharp, wait!" said Drake. "I just want to talk to you." Hannah sat back down.  
"Make it quick," she said. "I'm going back to shooting soon."  
"You used to date Bill Anders, didn't you?" Even beneath all the make-up, Drake could see a slight blush enter Hannah Sharp's cheeks.  
"That's not exactly privileged information," said Hannah. "Everyone who knows anything knows that Bill and I had a pretty serious relationship. And a very nasty, very public break-up."  
"You were really upset after the break-up, weren't you?"  
"I turned to alcohol," said Hannah. "I ended up in rehab. Started to see a psychiatrist after that."  
"I didn't think it would shake anyone that hard," said Drake.  
"Well, it did," said Hannah. "After all, Bill wasn't just a boyfriend. He was my fiancé'."  
"Fiancé'?" exclaimed Drake. "You two were going to get married?"  
"At least, I thought we were," said Hannah. "I thought he really loved me. It seemed like we were the perfect couple. I was rich. All of my albums have gone platinum, and my concerts always sell out. He was rich. He had earned his fortune the old-fashioned way. Through business. It was the story of the millionaire and the pop princess. Turns out he was just leading me on for publicity for his company."  
"When was the last time you saw Bill Anders?" asked Drake.  
"A few weeks ago," said Hannah. "I was having dinner at LeFontaines, one of the most exclusive restaurants in L.A. Bill Anders brought a few of his business associates there to entertain them. I paid my check and left right away, but it took everything within me to stop from taking my kitchen knife and shoving it through his..." She bit her tongue to keep any more words from sliding out.  
"If you don't mind my asking," said Drake, "where were you between 6:00 and 9:00 Saturday night?"  
"I don't mind at all," responded Hannah Sharp sharply. "I was giving a concert at the Los Angeles Concert Hall. Millions of screaming fans can vouch for me."  
"Thank you, Ms. Sharp," said Drake. "I don't want to waste any more of your time."  
"Ms. Sharp," came another voice. "You're wanted on set."  
"Wait one minute," said Hannah. She reached down and grabbed a copy of her latest CD. After signing it and kissing it, adding the print of her beautiful lips to the package, she handed it to Drake. "Something to remember me by."

> > > > > >

Jacqueline Servos also took a while to track down. Drake entered the Café' de Rose' and luckily managed to spot a young woman matching the description he had been given of Jacqueline. He quickly offered to pay for the girl's next cup of coffee.

Jacqueline Servos was an extremely beautiful Latino girl, about in her early thirties. Her skin was dark and smooth. And her figure almost put Hannah Sharp to shame.  
"What is it you want, senor?" asked the Latino girl.  
"I understand that you used to work for Bill Anders?"  
"Si, senor."  
"I also understand that you used to be romantically involved with Bill Anders?"  
"Si, senor."  
"Is that all you can say?"

Jacqueline's eyes sprung alive with passion as she turned them towards Drake's.  
"I was his housemaid," said Jacqueline. "I was young and attractive. Anders hired me for reasons that were not exactly professional, comprende? He spent the entire time I was there making passes at me. Finally, I gave in. We slept together."  
"What happened after that?" asked Drake.  
"He found out I was taking an occasional dollar or so from his drawer." She calmly took a sip of coffee from her cup.  
"You were stealing from your employer?"

"I know," said Jacqueline. "It sounds nervy. But I figured since he was getting benefits from me, I should get some benefits from him." She took another sip of coffee. "Unfortunately, the boss didn't see it that way. Senor Anders fired me. He hired some ugly old senorita who was honest but didn't have exactly the same -- eh-- qualifications he had looked for while hiring me. And he refused to give a good recommendation to any prospective employers."  
"I wouldn't blame him," said Drake. "Under the circumstances."  
"He was going to cut me off without a dime," said Jacqueline. "But I threatened to tell everyone about our secret relationship. Bill was engaged to Hannah Sharp, the famous pop singer, at the time. He couldn't afford a scandal."  
"So you started black-mailing him?" said Drake.  
"I wouldn't call it that," said Jacqueline. "I would call it making sure I got one good severance fee. After all I'd been for him..."  
"But it is possible that Anders got tired of being black-mailed," said Drake. "You might have done more than ask for a severance fee. You might have kept threatening to reveal the secret. Even up to before he died Anders couldn't afford a scandal. You could have..."  
"But I didn't!" insisted Jacqueline. "I tried. Believe me, I tried. But as soon as Bill broke up with Hannah Sharp and I tried asking for more money, Bill told me I could do what I'd done to him to myself."  
"All the same," said Drake. "If I choose not to believe you. If I  
choose to believe you were still blackmailing Anders. He could have been tired of it. He could have threatened to tell the police. That would give you motive for murder."  
"That's a lot to assume," said Jacqueline.  
"Where were you between 6:00 and 9:00 Saturday night?" asked Drake.  
"I'm not sure I can remember," said Jacqueline. "I think I was grocery shopping."  
"Can anyone confirm that?"  
"No, senor," said Jacqueline. "Just believe me. I did not kill Bill Anders." With that, Jacqueline Servos got up and left.

"Excuse me," said another woman, coming up to Drake. She was a slightly overweight woman with short brown hair and tiny brown dots for eyes. "Did I hear you mention the name Bill Anders?"  
"You did," admitted Drake.  
"I heard he's dead," said the woman. "Is that true?"  
"It is," replied Drake.  
"Tell me more."  
"Excuse me, ma'am," said Drake. "Who are you?"  
"My name is Rowena Taylor," said the woman. "And it figures. I meet a man, and he dies."  
"You knew Bill Anders?"  
"Oh, yes, I knew Bill Anders," said Rowena. "Quite intimately. At least for one night."  
"When did you first meet him?" asked Drake.  
"Just a couple of weeks ago," said Rowena. "I met him on business in Illinois. You see, I'm a co-owner of Taylor & Jackson."  
"I don't believe I'm familiar with that firm."  
"Not many people are," admitted Rowena. "It's basically the same kind of business as Bill Anders ran. Except we operate out of Chicago. Bill Anders met with my company to negotiate a merger. Negotiations ended up leading to his hotel room."  
"I see," said Drake. "So, what brings you to L.A.?"

"I came here to take a tour of Bill's business place," said Rowena.  
"Make sure his company's all in order before making a final decision with my partner, Mr. Jackson. I was also looking forward to seeing Bill, for obvious reasons."  
"To try to pick up from where you left off in Chicago?"  
"No," replied Rowena. "To give him a piece of my mind. The jerk promised to call me and never did. In fact, I'm kind of glad Anders is dead. There was something I never liked about him. Something that seemed dishonest about him."  
"Business-wise?" queried Drake.  
"No. Relationship-wise," said Rowena. "Bill Anders was a good man of business. I could tell that about him. He did everything by the book. If he ever did anything wrong, it was the way he handled the women he loved. I know of his reputation. You think that would have kept me from falling for his charm, but it didn't. But business-wise, I didn't really worry about Bill. It was his partner that bothered me."  
"Jack Anderson?"

"Yes," said Rowena. "I met him once or twice before. A real player.  
Not relationship-wise like Bill. Business-wise, like you said. There's something shrewd and dishonest about that one, you mark my words."  
"Ms. Taylor," said Drake. "Do you have any problem with telling me where you were between 6:00 and 9:00 Saturday night?"  
"I have no problem whatsoever," said Rowena. "I was back home in  
Chicago. I only arrived in California yesterday. Is that all of the questions you have for me?"  
"Yes, it is, Ms. Taylor," said Drake. "Thank you."

> > > > > >

Drake was tired and exhausted by the end of the day. He finally made it to the last name on his list: Christy Kevins. This would be interesting.

> > > > > >

Christy was at home. She cracked the door, just enough for Drake to get a good look at her. Her hair was bedraggled, her teeth were yellowed, and her breath and hair smelled of tobacco.  
"Yes?" she groaned.  
"Ms. Christy Kevins?"  
"Who wants to know?"

"My name is Paul Drake. I'm a private investigator. I'd like to ask  
you a few questions about Bill Anders."

Christy immediately began to close the door. Drake stopped it by jamming his hand in the frame.

"Wait!" he cried anxiously. "A young girl's life may depend on you."

"How's that?"  
"Helen Carmichael is being tried for the murder of Bill Anders," said  
Drake. "If she's found guilty, she could get the death penalty. I work for Perry Mason, the lawyer representing Helen Carmichael."  
"And he wants to get her off?"

"He believes she's completely innocent."

"I'm sure he does," said Christy, dryly and sarcastically. "All  
right. Talk to me. But make it fast."  
"I understand Bill Anders had a restraining order put out against you," said Drake. "I understand this was after you stalked him around L.A. with a shotgun."

"That was never proven," said Christy.  
"Did it ever come up in court?" Drake asked. For the first time, he was aware of loud noises coming from inside the house.  
"No. Anders dropped it."  
"Do you mind telling me more about the relationship you had with Anders?"  
"I kind of do,"said Christy. "It's not exactly pleasant memories for me. How is this going to help save the life of that girl you were talking about?"

"I'm just trying to find out as much about Bill Anders as I possibly can," said Drake.  
"He was a good for nothing, low-life jerk and a slob that never cared about anyone or anything other than himself, and he wasn't fit to live!" Christy spat out. There was a loud crash from inside the house. Drake saw Christy turn her head and scream obscenities at someone. "You want to know about my relationship with Bill Anders? Fine. He had just started his company. I was an intern there. He started buying me roses. We started a relationship. After a month, he said sleeping around with an employee was going to hurt his image. So he broke it off."  
"Simple as that?"  
"Not quite," said Christy. She pushed the door open wider. Standing beside her was a young boy who just came up to her waist. The boy had messy hair, the same color as hers, and was dirty and disheveled. He must have been about 6 years old. "Mr. Drake, meet Bill Jr."  
"Really?"  
"That's not his real name," said Christy. "I just wanted to emphasize to you exactly who the father was. I call him Jordan Montgomery Kevins. I was still pregnant with him when Anders left me. And fired me, with not a penny to take care of my baby boy."  
"Did Anders know about him?"  
"Of course he knew," said Christy. "That was our deal. I didn't bring up Jordan Montgomery in court, and Anders didn't bring up the times I took potshots at him with my shotgun. However, Anders did put that restraining order out on me, and that makes it pretty difficult to get child support. Perhaps your lawyer friend can help me with that?"

"It's a little late now," said Drake.  
"Of course," said Christy. "But now you can see why I'd be inspired to take up my shotgun at Anders. Or even shove a knife through his heart."  
"Where were you between 6:00 and 9:00 Saturday night?"  
"I was at home," said Christy. "It's hard to get out anywhere when I've got a little one to raise all by myself."  
"So the boy's your only alibi?"  
"And he can vouch for me in court," said Christy. "Does Mr. Mason really want to see that?"  
"No," said Drake. "I don't think he does."

> > > > > >

Paul Drake had agreed to meet Perry Mason at Slam Duncan's, the sports bar and grill, that night. When Drake entered the noisy, crowded, smoke-filled dining room, Mason was already nibbling happily on some French fries.  
"PAUL!" called Mason, screaming at the top of his lungs to be heard. "OVER HERE!"

Drake took a seat across from Mason.  
"WELL!" Mason screamed.  
"We've got nothing," said Drake.  
"WHAT?" asked Mason. "Paul, you're going to have to speak up. I can't hear you that well in here."

"WE'VE GOT NOTHING!" Drake screamed. "Nothing at all! Unless you're going to have..."  
"What was that?"

"Huh?"  
"What was that?"  
"Perry, I can't hear you!"  
"I said, 'WHAT WAS THAT YOU WERE SAYING'?" screamed Mason.  
"I WAS SAYING," answered Drake, "that the only good those women could do for you is if you plan on having them testify that Anders deserved what he got. Maybe then the judge would sympathize and lower the sentence."

"None of the girls seemed like good suspects to you?" asked Mason.  
"They might convince the judge that your client wasn't the only one with reason to want Anders dead," said Drake, still screaming to be heard above the maddening crowd. "But other than that, I can't see how they'd be able to help you. They all have perfect alibis."  
"So does Jack Anderson," said Mason. "The organizers of the dinner convention he was at confirmed his story."  
"What?"  
"Huh?"

"What did you just say?"

"Never mind," said Mason. "Come on, Paul. We'll finish talking outside."

> > > > > >

Drake's ears were still ringing when the two left the sports grill and stepped out into the cool, quiet evening. When Drake looked at his companion, he noticed Mason was smiling and chuckling to himself.  
"What is it?"  
"Oh. Nothing," said Mason. "I knew it was a long shot with any of those girls, anyway. They wouldn't be able to explain that letter the police received. I'm convinced our best suspects our the girls Helen shared her plot with."  
"What about what you told me Jack Anderson suggested to you?" asked Drake. "He said someone might have overheard his conversation with Helen back in that madhouse. Isn't it possible one or more of Anders' old flames could have been in there?" He jerked his thumb back in the direction of Slam Duncan's. Mason began to chuckle again.  
"What is it?" repeated Drake.  
"We've just demonstrated that was impossible," said Mason. "I had a little talk with the manager. A big championship game was being broadcast while Helen and Jack Anderson ate. The conditions would have been very much the same as they were tonight. It's a miracle Anderson heard what Helen was saying to him, let alone the people at surrounding tables. I still think that Kay Silvers, Natalie Culp, and Susan Cook are our best suspects."  
"So what's next?" asked Drake.  
"There's not much left we can do," said Mason. "Tomorrow, this goes to court. And I just wish I had an answer to the big question."  
"What's the big question?"  
"Just who was it that wrote that letter to the police?"


	6. A Trial Begins

_Disclaimer – I do not own any rights to the characters or trademarks of Perry Mason. This is intended strictly as a tribute to the series._

**A/N _– Due to a lack of reviews, and my own realization that I didn't quite take the time to write this last chapter as well as I should have, I have gone back and completely revised it. Please let me know what you think. _**

It was a sunny Californian morning on the Friday when the trial of Helen Carmichael began. Hamilton Burger, the District Attorney and an old courtroom rival of Perry Mason's, was handling the prosecution. Perry Mason, of course, was council for the defense. The Honorable Julie Green was presiding as judge.

Prosecution wasted no time in introducing the anonymous letter police had received as evidence. The letter stated in precise detail that the writer had overheard Helen Carmichael say she would kill Bill Anders, had overheard Helen Carmichael say she would use the letter opener she had once purchased for the deceased as a present, had overheard Helen Carmichael say she would insert the said letter opener into the deceased's heart, and had overheard Helen Carmichael say she would do this while the deceased was in his pajamas.

Lt. Tragg, the head of the L.A.P.D. Homicide Department, was the primary witness for the prosecution.

"When exactly did you receive the letter, which I have labeled Exhibit A?" asked Hamilton Burger. Lt. Tragg, in a clear and precise manner, stated the date. "And on what date was the body of William Anders discovered?" asked Burger. Lt. Tragg, in the same manner, recited another date. "I would like the court to note that the date the police received this letter and the date William Anders was discovered are exactly eight days apart, the former preceding the latter."

"Lt. Tragg, was there anything at the scene of the crime that can place Miss Carmichael, the defendant, at the scene at the time of the murder?"  
"There was," said Lt. Tragg.  
"Would you mind stating what this was?" asked Burger.  
"Several things," responded Tragg.  
"One at a time, lieutenant."  
"First of all, there was a tube of lipstick," said Tragg.  
"Exhibit B," said Burger. He showed a tube of lipstick to Tragg. "Do you recognize this, lieutenant?"  
"Yes, I do," said Tragg. "That's the lipstick we found at the scene. It has Helen Carmichael's fingerprints. Miss Carmichael also identified the lipstick as her own."  
"Was there anything else?" asked Burger.  
"Yes, there was," said Tragg. "We found footprints outside of the deceased's home. They fit a woman's high-heeled shoe, size 8."  
"Did you check the defendant's shoe size?"  
"Yes, sir."

"Lt. Tragg, what was the defendant's shoe size?"  
"Size 8."  
"Was there anything else that might have indicated Miss Carmichael's involvement in the crime?" asked Burger.  
"Yes, there was," said Lt. Tragg. "A key found on the defendant's person."

"Please explain," said Burger.  
"There were no signs of break-in at the victim's home," said Tragg. "From this, we determined the victim either allowed the killer access to his house, or that the killer let himself, or herself, in. Since the victim was found in bed, and hardly dressed to answer his front door, we assumed the killer must have had a key to the house. Helen Carmichael had such a key."  
"Thank you, Lt. Tragg. Your witness, Mr. Mason."

"Lt. Tragg, you stated that the tube of lipstick, which prosecution has labeled Exhibit B, was found at the scene of the crime. Isn't it possible that the lipstick could have been left there at some earlier date, before Bill Anders was murdered?" asked Perry Mason.  
"No," replied Lt. Tragg.  
"Why do you say that?" asked Mason.  
"Because of the statement given by Mr. Anders' maid," said Tragg.  
"These footprints you spoke of," said Mason. "Where exactly were they found?"  
"By Anders' driveway. The opposite side from the house," said Tragg. "The ground was moist near the pavement."  
"Which direction were the footprints heading?" asked Mason.  
"Away from the house," said Tragg.  
"Were there any footprints heading towards the house as well?" asked Mason.  
"No, there were not."  
"How do you explain this, lieutenant?"  
"The person leaving the footprints may have traveled on the pavement towards the house," said Tragg.  
"Doesn't it seem odd to you, lieutenant, that the killer could easily avoid leaving footprints by travelling on the pavement both to and from the house, yet traveled on the moist ground near the end of the drive opposite the house? How would you explain that, lieutenant?"  
"The killer might have stumbled," said Tragg. "Lost her footing and ended up in the moist ground."  
"Is it not also possible, lieutenant, that someone may have travelled on the moist ground deliberately, in order to leave the footprints you discovered?"  
"Objection!" called Burger.  
"No further questions," said Mason.

Hamilton Burger next called Dr. Charles Henika to the stand. Henika testified that death had been caused by a severe wound to the heart. The wound was caused by a sharp instrument, much like the letter opener Burger submitted as Exhibit C. Burger asked the court to note that this information fit with the information provided in Exhibit A.

"Dr. Henika," started Perry Mason. "Besides the lethal one, were any other wounds found on the victim?"  
"Several," said Dr. Henika. "Slight scrapes and bruises, old scars..."  
"I meant recent wounds, doctor," said Mason.  
"The victim had received a blow to the head," said Henika. "The blow was relatively new, though it is hard to decipher precisely how fresh the blow was when the victim received the fatal wound."  
"Assuming this head wound was caused by the same woman, or man, that caused the heart wound," said Mason. "Is there anyway to determine if the victim was concious when he received the fatal blow?"  
"There is none," said Henika.  
"Then perhaps the victim was not asleep when his killer entered as the police and prosecution suggested," said Mason. "Perhaps the victim was still awake, providing the need for the blow to the head before he was killed. Thank you, doctor. That will be all."

Burger re-examined Dr. Henika, this time asking him for an approximate time of death. Henika stated that Bill Anders was murdered some time between 6:00 P.M. and 9:00 P.M. Burger then re-called Lt. Tragg, who stated the police had informally narrowed the time to between 7:00 and 9:00 due to testimony from Anders' housekeeper.

Prosecution called Juana DeMarco to the stand.  
"Senorita DeMarco," said Burger. "Would you mind telling the court what your relationship was to Mr. Anders?"  
"Si, senor," said Juana, beneath tears. "I was his maid."  
"About how long have you been Mr. Anders' maid?" asked Burger.  
"Almost 4 years now," replied Juana.  
"Senorita DeMarco," said Burger. "Have you ever seen this woman before?" He pointed to Helen.

"Si, senor," said Juana. "She was around Senor Anders' house quite a bit. A girlfriend, I think."

"Senorita DeMarco, did Anders have any peculiar habits that you were aware of?"

"I don't see how you mean."

"Like changing from clothes to pajamas at the same time every night?"

"Objection!" called Mason. "Completely irrelevant."

"Your honor," insisted Burger, "I believe this well soon become very relevant."

"Overruled," declared the judge. "Senorita DeMarco, was changing from clothes to pajamas at the same time every night one of Bill Anders' peculiar habits?"

"Si, senor. Senor Anders had me place his pajamas out for him at 6:30 every night. He would change into them at 7:00 and then loaf around in them until he retired to bed at around 8:30. The pajamas were always the same. Royal blue."

"Senorita, were you present at Anders' house on the Saturday he was murdered?" said Burger.

"No, senor," said Juana. "I never work on Saturdays. I made extra sure the entire house was clean on Friday night."

"While cleaning, did you happen to find a woman's tube of lipstick lying around?" asked Burger.

"No, senor," said Juana.  
"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Si, senor," said Juana. "I would remember that. I do not think that  
Senor Anders wore the lipstick."  
"Is it possible that the lipstick may have been in a dark corner or under a dresser or somewhere that you might have missed?"  
"No, senor," said Juana. "Senor Anders was extremely picky. I miss nowhere."  
"Thank you, Senorita. That will be all."

Perry Mason declined cross-examining Juana DeMarco.

Burger called other witnesses that confirmed more or less what had already been stated. He then rested his case.

The case for the prosecution had been slim, but Perry Mason's case was equally mediocre. He called Kay Silvers, Natalie Culp, and Susan Cook as character witnesses. Each of them stated basically the same thing. Helen was just like family to them. She was excitable and short-tempered, but she was the baby of the family. She could never commit such a heinous crime as the one she was being accused of.

Burger cross-examined them by asking each to confirm Helen's relationship with Anders. They all admitted they knew of the fight and break-up between Helen and Anders, re-establishing motive for murder, but they all refused to admit they had ever heard Helen threaten to kill her boyfriend. Mason was glad Burger wasn't asking them any questions directly related to the letter the police had received. Hamilton Burger had no way of knowing Helen had told the three girls her plot that night on the train. That was Mason's one advantage. The Ace under his sleeve.

Neither side could present evidence that seemed at all conclusive before the trial was recessed.

> > > > > >

Back in Perry Mason's office, Mason, Della, and Helen were all sipping coffee and discussing the case.  
"I don't get it," said Helen. "I kept worrying the D.A. was going to call me up to ask me about the letter, the way the police did. I was worried I'd have to lie. And I'm not very good at that."  
"Oh, honey," said Della. "I thought you knew."  
"Knew what?"  
"Your constitutional rights," said Mason. "Against self- incrimination. You have the right to refuse giving testimony against yourself."  
"I didn't know that," said Helen. "This whole time, I thought..."  
"I'm sorry," said Mason. "As your council, I should have told you of that ahead of time. Hamilton might have asked you to reveal something you would regret telling the court. You would have had every right to refuse if he called you. But, as experienced as he is, Hamilton already knew that. That's why he was asking Lt. Tragg for information he would have much rather heard from you."  
"What kind of information?" asked Helen.  
"About the house key and the lipstick, for starters," said Mason. "Especially about that letter."  
"That letter," repeated Della. "What are we going to do about that  
letter?"

"We might not have to do anything," said Mason.  
"What do you mean, Chief?" asked Della.  
"The letter may not be the most pressing matter right now," said  
Mason. "Remember, in this country, it's innocent until proven guilty. Hamilton Burger has to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that you're guilty. That's going to be difficult with the little amount of evidence he has. We've just got to create reasonable doubt. The slightest possibility that the evidence against you is inconclusive and that you're truly innocent."  
"I am!" cried Helen.  
"We believe you, dear," said Della. "The problem is convincing the judge and jury," said Mason. "That may not be a problem at all. It's the physical evidence that I'm worried about. The lipstick and the house key. And possibly those footprints. I can show the court that those things are inconclusive, but I'm going to need to call you to the stand."  
"All right," said Helen. "I can do that. After all, what do I have to lose?"  
"Your right against self-incrimination," said Mason. "Like we just told you about. If I call you to the stand as a witness for the defense, Hamilton Burger will be able to ask you all the questions he wants during cross-examination."

Helen Carmichael's face suddenly showed fear and anxiety.  
"What if I don't take the stand?" she asked.  
"We may have nothing to worry about," said Mason. "As I said before, it's going to be hard for prosecution to build a case with the scant evidence on hand. Hamilton's relying heavily on that anonymous tip-off."  
"And what's wrong with that?" asked Helen.  
"Yeah," agreed Della. "What did you mean when you said that letter wasn't the most pressing matter we had to deal with right now?"  
"It's anonymous," said Mason. "Anonymous doesn't carry much weight in court. There's no way to establish the reliabilty of the writer. Now, if the identity of the writer was revealed as someone who might be considered reliable, it might be something to worry about. I think that might be the only way for prosecution to win."  
"Then I might not have to testify?" said Helen hopefully.  
"Not if you don't feel up to it," said Mason. "I'd rather you did, though. Remember, it's one thing for the prosecution to prove you were plotting to murder Bill Anders and another thing altogether for the prosecution to prove you actually did murder Bill Anders. Do you understand?" Helen nodded. "If it seems to me in court that we really do need your testimony, I want you to take the stand, and I want you to tell the truth. Whether it's me asking the questions or Hamilton Burger, I want you to answer every question honestly. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Just like you swore."  
"I understand," said Helen.  
"Chief," said Della. "What happens if the writer of the letter does come forward?"

The look of fear and anxiety soon returned to Helen Carmichael's face. It graced the faces of the other two as well. The three silently went back to their coffee.

**A/N – _I'm not an expert in law. I'm going to try to make this as accurate as possible, but please forgive me if I don't get all the legal details right. _**


	7. A Trial Continues

_Disclaimer: None of the titles, trademarks, or characters (with the exception of OC's) are mine. _

Helen Carmichael's worst fears were realized when a rumor began to circulate that Prosecution was about to get a huge boost from a "surprise witness."

Things seemed even bleaker when D.A. Hamilton Burger publicly announced that a new witness had stepped forward with information regarding the Helen Carmichael case. He refused, however, to reveal whom the witness was or what the witness was willing to reveal.

He didn't need to say anything. Perry Mason could guess for himself. It seemed the writer of the anonymous letter to the LAPD had finally come forward.

Della Street could feel the tension in Perry Mason's office. Though Mason showed no sign of nervousness, he seemed to be working harder on his case than Della had ever seen him before. He busied himself with papers, paced the floor of his small office, and spent a good deal of time just sitting and thinking. He was trying to tackle the problem before him. He had to plan for whatever the D.A. might throw at him, and he had to find a way to get over it. He had to consider all of the possibilities.

On the morning the trial resumed, the tension still hung in the air, but Mason didn't seem to notice it. Sitting in his office, dressed as usual to appear in court, Mason smiled to himself and continued reading his Agatha Christie novel. At this eccentric behavior, Della Street could do nothing but scratch her head.

The tension was thicker than ever in the courtroom. It almost seemed palpable. The threat of the D.A.'s surprise witness was visibly hanging over everyone involved with the defense. Helen Carmichael seemed affected the most. As Mason looked at her, he wondered if the judge and jury would take her nervous look as innocence or defeat.

Perry Mason, though, seemed as confident as ever as he stood before the judge. He called Lt. Tragg as his first witness.

"Lt. Tragg," said Mason, "you shared with the court several pieces of evidence linking my client to the scene of William Anders' murder. Could you please repeat those?"

"Objection," said Hamilton Burger softly.

"Your honor, Mr. Mason is obviously using some sort of delaying tactic."

"Your honor, I withdraw the question," said Mason. "Let me get to the point. Lieutenant, in your testimony, you mentioned a tube of lipstick. Is that correct?"

"Objection," repeated Burger.

"Building a case, your honor."

"Overruled."

"Thank you, your honor," said Mason. "Please answer the question, lieutenant."

"It's true," said Tragg. "A tube of ruby red lipstick."

"And you questioned the defendant, my client, Ms. Helen Carmichael about this tube of lipstick?" said Mason.

"I did," said Lt. Tragg. "She admitted that it was hers."

"Did she, lieutenant?" said Mason. "Do you have any idea how many tubes exactly like the one you found are sold in this country? Do you have any idea how many are sold in California alone?"

"But how many of those tubes have Helen Carmichael's fingerprints on them?" countered Tragg. Ahhing and hissing came from the observant crowd in the courtroom. It sounded more like they were watching a high school fight than a legal trial.

"You have determined that this tube of lipstick was dropped at the scene of the crime during William Anders' murder. You have determined this based largely on the testimony of the maid. Is that correct?" said Mason.

"It is," said Tragg.

"Lt. Tragg,' said Mason, "would you please explain to the court how you believe the tube of lipstick happened to have been dropped at the home of the deceased, William Anders?" "Objection!" said Burger, more loudly this time.

"Overruled," said the judge again. "Lt. Tragg, please answer the question."

"Well, I... eh... I assume it fell from Miss Carmichael's pocket while fleeing the scene of the crime."

"Thank you, Lt. Tragg. That will be all. But I do reserve the right to recall this witness at a later time."

"No questions for this witness, your honor," said Hamilton Burger.

> > > > > >

Helen Carmichael looked more nervous than ever as Perry Mason called on her to take the stand. As she walked to the front of the courtroom, Mason leaned close to her and whispered in her ear. "Remember what I told you," he said. "Just be honest."

"Ms. Carmichael," Mason said aloud, "would you mind telling the court what you were doing between 7:00 and 9:00 on the night William Anders was murdered?"

"I was at home," said Helen meekly. "I was at home watching a movie on TV."

"What were you wearing at the time?" asked Mason.

"I don't see how that's important," said Helen.

"Please, Ms. Carmichael," said Mason. "Answer the question. What were you wearing while watching TV between 7:00 and 9:00 the night Bill Anders was murdered?"

"Just a sweat suit," said Helen.

"Could you be more specific?"

"A really simple sweat suit," said Helen. "Red sweatpants. A white sweat shirt. White socks. Tennis shoes."

"And did this sweat suit have any pockets?" asked Perry Mason.

"None," said Helen.

"I would also like the court to note that Helen Carmichael was wearing tennis shoes, not high heels," said Mason.

"Now, Ms. Carmichael, you said you recognized a tube of lipstick that the police showed you? Prosecution has labeled it Exhibit B."

"Yes," said Helen. "I think it might be mine. I mean, I have a color just like it, and it is the brand I usually buy. But I have so many colors."

"But you did say you recognized the lipstick?" said Mason.

"Yes, I did," admitted Helen. "It's even my favorite color. I carry it in my purse all the time." "After the police showed you the lipstick, did you check in your purse to see if the lipstick was missing?"

"No, I didn't," said Helen.

"You didn't?" said Mason. "I would think after being shown an item as common as a tube of lipstick that was linking you to the scene of a major crime, you'd at least check to try and prove it wasn't yours."

"I didn't need to," said Helen. "I had already lost my tube of lipstick like that a week before the police found it."

"I see," said Mason. "Do you have any idea where you might have lost that tube of lipstick?" "No, I do not," said Helen.

"Do you think it is possible that someone might have stolen that tube of lipstick?"

"Objection!" called Burger yet again.

"Ms. Carmichael," continued Mason, "you mentioned that you usually kept the tube of lipstick in a purse. Is this the purse in question?"

Mason showed the court a simple leather woman's purse.

"It is," said Helen.

"It is now labeled Defense Exhibit A," said Mason. "If you would, Ms. Carmichael, would you like to demonstrate how you normally put People's Exhibit B into Defense Exhibit A?"

Helen took the purse, unzipped it, dropped the tube of lipstick inside, and zipped it again.

"Thank you, Ms. Carmichael. That's all."

Helen looked frightened as Hamilton Burger approached her.

"Ms. Carmichael, what was your relationship with Mr. Anders?" asked Burger.

Helen hesitated. Her eyes made a silent plea to Perry Mason once again. Mason only offered Helen a reassuring nod.

"We were lovers," said Helen.

"And is it true that you and Mr. Anders had some sort of argument?" asked Burger.

"Yes, it is," said Helen.

"Would you mind sharing the details of your argument?" asked Burger.

"I'd rather not," said Helen.

"Ms. Carmichael, this is a court of law," said Burger. "Now Ms. Culp, Ms. Silvers, and Ms. Cook have all testified that you had an argument with Mr. Anders. I ask again, what were the details of your argument?"

"Objection," said Mason. "Prosecution is asking my client to give very personal, and very irrelevant, testimony."

"Sustained," said the judge.

"Ms. Carmichael," said Burger, "have you ever threatened to kill Mr. Anders?"

Again, Helen hesitated.

"No," she lied. Perry Mason frowned.

"Are you absolutely sure?" asked Burger.

"No," repeated Helen. "I did not threaten to kill Bill."

"I remind you that you are under oath," said Burger.

"I never threatened to kill Bill Anders!" screamed Helen.

A dull roar formed in the crowd. The judge banged her gavel. 'Order! Order!"

"Ms. Carmichael," continued Burger, as soon as he had complete silence, "you stated you were at home between 7:00 and 9:00 on the night Bill Anders was murdered. Can anyone confirm that?"

"No," said Helen.

"No further questions, your honor."

> > > > > >

"Your honor, defense recalls Lt. Tragg."

"Lt. Tragg, you earlier testified that you believed my client, Ms. Helen Carmichael, dropped a tube of lipstick, People's Exhibit B, while fleeing the scene of Bill Anders' murder from her pocket."

"That is correct," repeated the crotchety old policeman.

"Ms. Carmichael has just testified that she had no pockets on the night Bill Anders was murdered. And even if she had, she carries her lipstick in her purse."

"So?"

"So, Lt. Tragg, I ask you again: How do you believe my client left the lipstick in Anders' house?"

"It must have fallen from her purse."

"Lt. Tragg, I would like you to help me with a demonstration. The entire court has just watched Helen Carmichael place her lipstick in this purse. Would you take hold of it, please?"

Mason enjoyed the look on Tragg's face as he reluctantly grasped the woman's purse. He held it by the corners of his fingers as if it was contaminated.

"Hold it like a woman would, lieutenant," instructed Mason.

The look on Tragg's face turned to sheer embarrassment as he begrudgingly placed the purse strap over his shoulder. The observant crowd burst into laughter.

"I don't see what significance this 'demonstration' could possibly have," objected Burger. "Don't worry," said Mason. "You will. Now, Lt. Tragg, I would like you to take this purse and run as quickly as you can across the courtroom floor."

Lt. Tragg slowly stood up. He cast a pleading glance at the judge. "Do I have to, your honor?" The judge simply nodded.

Lt. Tragg braced himself and then bolted down the aisle of the courtroom. "Now come back," said Mason.

Tragg ran back towards him.

"Again," said Mason. "Faster this time."

The laughter came to a peak as Lt. Tragg obeyed.

"Objection!" called Burger. "I don't see what any of this proves."

Mason took back the purse and unzipped it. He carefully removed the tube of lipstick and showed it to the courtroom.

"It proves," said Mason, "that no matter how fast Helen Carmichael fled the scene, the tube of lipstick could not have fallen from the purse. And I would like to ask you, Lt. Tragg, what your opinion is on why a young woman would take a purse with her while she was committing murder anyway? No further questions, your honor."

> > > > > >

Perry Mason looked at Hamilton Burger. A smile was starting to spread across the District Attorney's face. Mason knew exactly what he was thinking. The demonstration with the purse would be nothing if he could bring someone forward that could testify about the anonymous tip-off the police had received. That person could also prove that Helen had lied under oath. Why had she lied? Mason had distinctly told her to stick to the truth. Now, no matter what Mason did, Burger would pull out that surprise witness...

Mason had been putting a lot of thought into his next decision. He had made strange ones before. This one would be unusual even for him. But now Mason finally made the choice. He had to play his Ace before Burger could play his.

Perry Mason called Helen Carmichael back to the stand.

"I mean it this time," whispered Mason. "Just answer all of my questions truthfully."

Mason straightened up.

"Ms. Carmichael," he said, "are you aware of what perjury is?"

"Huh?"

"Perjury, Ms. Carmichael," said Mason. "Lying under oath."

"I don't understand," said Helen. "Why...?"

"Ms. Carmichael, prosecution asked you if you had ever threatened to kill Bill Anders. You said no. Would you mind explaining why you lied?"

A panicked expression began filling Helen's eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about." "Yes, you do, Ms. Carmichael," said Mason. "Now I put the question to you. Have you ever threatened to kill Bill Anders?"

"What? No!"

"Never? You never even spoke about killing Bill Anders?"

"Of course not!" cried Helen. "How could you say that?"

"I'm the one asking the questions here," said Mason, now raising his voice. "'He has to die.' 'He has to die.' Are those words familiar to you?"

"No. I..."

"Didn't you speak those words on a railroad train from New York to California?" demanded Mason. "Weren't you speaking about Bill Anders?"

"No I didn't!" shouted Helen. She was now in a panicked frenzy, screaming at the top of her lungs. "And I wasn't!"

"You're lying," Mason shouted back. "Tell the truth. You spoke to some friends about killing Bill Anders, didn't you? Didn't you?"

Burger was so startled and confused that he was tempted for a moment to object. He felt someone should be objecting to this. He was wise enough to hold his tongue. "Didn't you say that Bill Anders had to die?" shouted Mason.

"No! No, I..."

"You're lying, Ms. Carmichael," said Mason. His eyes shot daggers at his own client, who was helplessly squirming in her box. "I ask you again, did you say that Bill Anders had to die? Isn't it true that you talked to Ms. Natalie Culp, Ms. Kay Silvers, and Ms. Susan Cook on the train from New York to California? Isn't it true that you mentioned stabbing Bill Anders through the heart with a letter opener you had purchased from him? Isn't it true that you threatened to do it on a Saturday night while Bill Anders was lying in his bed sleeping?"

"Yes!" cried Helen. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Mason took a few breaths and then immediately calmed down. "No further questions," he said gently.

The judge and the crowd of observers sat looking on in wide-eyed amazement. Hamilton Burger stood up and blinked in shock. Kay Silvers hung her head. Natalie Culp shook hers. Susan Cook's face had just completely cleared of expression.

Jack Anderson's face showed complete puzzlement. It was a mixture of shock and amusement.

Hamilton Burger was no longer sure if he was on the side of the Defense or the Prosecution.


	8. Paul Drake's Assignment

**A/N - _If anyone's reading this story, please review. Whether you have good things to say or bad, I want to know how I'm doing and if there's anything wrong I can fix._**

"On the side of the Defense or the Prosecution?" asked the TV reporter. "That's the question everyone has been asking since yesterday, after defense attorney Perry Mason actually led murder suspect Helen Carmichael to deliver incriminating evidence _against _herself..."

"It seems Perry Mason has always wanted to be a prosecutor after all," said another reporter. "He'd be very good at it. He practically has his own client on death row..."

"What's this guy thinking?" chimed in yet another reporter. "He seems to be doing all the D.A.'s work for him! I mean, with defense like this, who needs a prosecutor?"

"In court news today," said one more reporter. "You know it looks bleak when renowned defense attorney Perry Mason gives up on his own client. Yesterday, he practically led Helen Carmichael to confess to the crime she's been accused of in front of judge and jury. In fact, it almost looked like District Attorney Hamilton Burger was going to come to Carmichael's defense!"

Perry Mason flipped through a few more channels. They all seemed to be saying basically the same thing. Mason calmly switched the TV set off and spun around in his chair.  
"It gets better," said Della Street. "You made the front page of the newspaper."

Paul Drake handed the paper to Perry Mason, who slowly rocked back and forth in his seat as he scanned the article. Mason placed the paper down on his desk, carefully folded out the crinkles, and then looked into the blank faces of Paul Drake and Della Street.  
"What's a matter?" he asked.  
"We're just wondering the same thing as everyone else," said Drake. "What the Heck were you thinking?" Mason turned his chair to face Della.  
"It does look pretty bad, Chief," she agreed.

"It looks more than bad," piped in Helen Carmichael. "You're fired." Mason just continued to rock calmly back and forth. "I'm not kidding. I'm letting you go. My friends have all advised me to find another lawyer."

"One of those friends betrayed you," said Mason.

"Shut up!" yelled Helen. "You betrayed me! You didn't even try in there yesterday."

"I know it doesn't look like it right now," said Mason, addressing everyone present, "but I know exactly what I'm doing."

"Then what are you doing?" asked Drake.

"Actually, I'm not exactly sure," admitted Mason. "It just seemed like a really good idea at the time."

"That's it," said Helen, rapidly turning on her heels and walking towards Perry Mason's office door. "I'm out of here. I never want to see any of you again."

"Your friends are right about you," said Mason. "You're much too high- strung. Too short-tempered and impetuous. Let's talk for a moment about who betrayed who. I told you to be completely honest in there. You promised me you would. _You_ betrayed _me_."

"What was I supposed to do?" said Helen. "Tell everyone I did say everything in that letter? Prove that it wasn't just a hoax? I'd end up getting the death penalty. I may never be able to repair the damage you've just done. The damage you've been doing since I first met you. I'm going to die because of you!"

"See what I mean?" said Mason, still as calm as ever. "Much too high- strung. I was just trying to repair the damage you did by lying to the D.A. I told you the same way I told all of my witnesses for the defense, perjury can only hurt us. The more you lie, the guiltier you look." "They didn't have to know I was lying!" screamed Helen.

"They would have found out sooner or later," said Mason, for the first time raising his voice, but only by a decibel. "It was better that they heard the truth from you than from a witness for the prosecution."

"You should have never let me take the stand!" said Helen.

"Then we would never have been able to dispute the evidence against you," said Mason. "You should have just been honest like I told you to. Now that I had to coax you to tell the truth, it's going to hurt our case."

"We don't have a case!" said Helen. "We have nothing because I'm getting a new lawyer." She made a few wide strides to the door. Just as she turned the knob, Mason's voice stopped her once more.

"They can prove that you threatened to kill Bill Anders," said Mason. "But proving that you actually murdered him is something different altogether."

Helen left the office, slamming the door behind her. Paul Drake and Della Street were still frowning at Perry Mason. "For a lawyer," said Drake, "your defense of yourself still isn't all that convincing."

"It was a half-baked plan," admitted Mason. "But I still think it might just work."

"What do you mean?" said Della. "Chief, I know this isn't something you're used to, but you've just been fired."

"She'll be back," said Mason. "And we'll be ready when she does. Because then I'll have the evidence I need to prove beyond a shadow of doubt that she is innocent of murder."

"What kind of evidence?" asked Drake.

"The surprise witness for the prosecution," said Mason. "Now that Burger has probably discarded her, she's going to make a perfect witness for the defense."

"Where are you going to find this witness?" asked Drake.

"I'm not, Paul," said Mason. "You're a private investigator. That's what I pay you for." "What!" gasped Drake. "Perry, I'm not even sure I want to be involved in this anymore. And, besides, I don't even know who I'm looking for."  
"Sure you do," said Mason.  
"I do?"  
"You must have noticed her," said Mason. "Extremely beautiful woman. Long, curly reddish-brown hair. Teardrop shaped crystal blue eyes. About five-foot-five, ninety-one pounds. The figure of a super model. Or perhaps an actress. Oxford shirt and plaid skirt."  
"Are you a poet or a lawyer?" asked Drake. Mason said nothing. "Yeah. I noticed her."  
"You spent most of the trial staring at her legs," said Mason. Drake blushed slightly.  
"Yeah. Well, legs aren't going to be enough for me to find her by," said Drake.

"Don't worry," said Mason. "You'll have more. And I know just where to get it..."

> > > > > >

"Hello, Hamilton," said Perry Mason.  
"Come in, Perry," said the D.A., gesturing Mason to enter his office. Mason graciously accepted, stepping into Burger's office and waiting for the district attorney to invite him to take a seat. Burger did so, entering the office and closing the door behind him.  
"You're probably wondering to what you owe this visit," said Mason.  
"There's only one thing I'm wondering," said Drake. "And that's the same thing that everyone else is. What were you thinking back there?"  
"It seems crazy, I know," said Mason.  
"That's an understatement," said Burger. "Perry, we've known each other for years. That wasn't you. It was like you weren't even trying. I even thought that maybe you were starting to show some sympathy for me and letting me win for a change."  
"Don't be fooled, Hamilton," said Mason. "I still intend to prove that Helen Carmichael is not guilty."  
"I just don't get it," said Burger. "What's your strategy?"  
"Now, Hamilton," said Mason, "you know I can't tell you that. It wouldn't be professional."  
"You turned on your own client," said Burger. "I don't see anything professional about that."  
"I know it looks pretty bad right now," said Mason. "That's why I came here. I was hoping you would pay me a professional courtesy."  
"What is that?" asked Burger.  
"I need to know who your surprise witness was going to be," said Mason.  
"I'm not sure I can tell you that," said Burger. "It might hurt my case."  
"I don't see how it could," said Mason. "Hamilton, we may be on opposite sides of the courtroom, but we're actually both after the same thing. Truth. Justice. You know you want to find the truth just as much as I do. We're just both going at it different ways."  
"I guess we are really on the same team," said Burger. "It seems like that more than ever now.  
"A witness stepped forward claiming she had written that anonymous letter to the police. She was going to testify that she overheard Helen Carmichael's entire plot on a train ride from New York to California. It seems redundant now, since you were able to have Helen Carmichael deliver basically the same testimony. It sounded better straight from the horse's mouth anyway. That's pretty much all I can tell you."

"That can't be it," said Mason. "Surely you checked on the reliability of the witness. Name, background check. All the usual procedures."  
"Of course," said Burger. "It's not going to be of that much help, though. Just a simple working-class girl. Waitress at a cheap burger joint. Her name's Janet Redding. I talked to her boss, Dabney Lemming. Lemmings says she's very reliable. Never misses a day of work. Always shows up on time."  
"Do you have an address?" asked Mason.  
"Not a personal one," said Burger.  
"I meant for the burger joint."  
"Oh, yeah," said Burger. He took a small sticky note from his desk and jotted something down on it in pencil. "May I ask why you need it, or wouldn't that be professional?"  
"Since you no longer think Ms. Redding's testimony will be of any good to you, I was thinking of borrowing her as a witness for the defense." Mason took the note from Burger. "Thank you, Hamilton. And good luck. You'll need it."

> > > > > >

Back at Perry Mason's office, Drake accepted the note.  
"It's not going to do us much good," said Drake.  
"It's all we've got to work with," said Mason. "And we have to find that girl before the trial resumes. It's the only chance we have."  
"Are you sure this will do us any good?" asked Drake. "I mean, what can a witness for the prosecution tell us?"  
"I have a theory," said Mason. "And Janet Redding is the only one who can prove it."  
"How sure are you about this theory?" asked Drake.  
"I'm about ready to stake my career on it," said Mason. "In fact, I think I am staking my career on it. If I can't prove that Helen Carmichael is being framed, I'm going to retire from law forever."

Della Street gasped.

"I'll do what I can," said Drake. With that, he headed out the door.

Perry Mason wound his fingers behind his neck and leaned far back in his chair. He closed his eyes for a moment. Della almost thought he had fallen asleep. Then Mason straightened up and began to pound a rhythm on his desk with an ink pen. A slow, steady rhythm, like the tick-tock of a clock. The click-clack of the pen.  
"Chief," said Della. "What are you doing?"  
"Just thinking, Della," said Mason. "Just thinking."  
"About what?" asked Della.  
"The ultimate question," said Mason. "If Helen Carmichael didn't kill Bill Anders, then whodunit?"


	9. Paul Drake's Adventures

_DISCLAIMER: None of the Perry Mason characters or trademarks herein are mine._

The usually cheerful sun in the California sky seemed to have an ugly sneer this morning. The ugly beams brought tears to Paul Drake's eyes as he stepped out of his car into the small black parking lot of Lemming Burgers. Drake found himself yawning, fighting off the lazy desire to crawl back into his car and just snooze in the parking lot. The loud boom of a radio's bass from a passing car helped speed the rude awakening. Still, Drake wished he was back in bed. It wasn't that he was normally a lazy person. It was just that the mere thought of another one of Perry Mason's wild goose chases made him tired.

Drake forced himself to cross the parking lot. He stopped to quickly study the small building he was approaching. It was a small brick shack, about half the size of the tiny parking lot. A sign in front of the shack read: "Lemming Burgers. Home of the Lemming Burger." _How original, _Drake quipped to himself. Below the lettering there was a rough outline of the mythical creature wading down into a series of waving lines in order to drown itself. Drake wondered if the picture reflected the feelings of customers after eating the Lemming Burger.

Drake pushed open the glass door and walked towards the counter, where he encountered an acne-covered teenager more dazed and bedraggled than he was.

"Can I help you, sir?" chanted the teenager.

"I need a coffee," mumbled Drake. He hesitated before adding, "and to talk with Dabney Lemming."

"I'm sorry, sir," said the teenager. "I can't do that."

"What?" spat Drake. "Get me the coffee?"

"No, sir," said the teenager. "I mean..."

"I need to speak to Dabney Lemming," said Drake again. This time he was ordering it rather than mumbling it.

"He's very busy, sir," said the teenager. "Is there anything...?"

"What's going on here?" barked another man, walking up behind the boy. "Can't you even take a simple order right?" The man was stout and balding, with hairy arms sticking out from beneath rolled-up sleeves of a business shirt with necktie. He turned to Drake. "What do you want?"

"Are you Dabney Lemming?"

"Yeah. What do you want?" the man barked again.

"My name's Paul Drake. I'm a private investigator working for Perry Mason, the attorney at law."

"What's that got to do with me?"

"Do you have an office we can talk in?"

> > > > > >

Lemming led Drake past the counter into a cluttered room that could have done without the clutter. Without the clutter, the office would have made a pay phone booth look spacious. With the clutter, the office did the same to the inside of a cell phone.

"Make it quick," snapped Lemming.

"Do you know a Janet Redding?" asked Drake.

"Yeah," said Lemming. "She's a waitress here. Why?"

"Perry Mason thinks she may be important to his latest case," said Drake.

"She's a good girl," said Lemming, still snapping but at least being charitable now. "There's no way she could be getting in any trouble to need a lawyer."

"Mr. Mason would just like to talk to her," said Drake.

"She doesn't need to talk to any lawyer," grumbled Lemming. Drake would have liked more than anything to throw out his fist, catch Lemming square on his pug nose, and add the obnoxious manager to the clutter on his office floor. Instead, he took a deep breath and kept his professional demeanor.

"Is Janet Redding here right now?" asked Drake.

"No, she's not," said Lemming.

"When does she come in?" asked Drake.

"That's none of your business," said Lemming.

"When does she come in?" repeated Drake, more anxiously this time. "Mr. Lemming, a girl's life is hanging in the balance here!"

Lemming said nothing. He just leaned back in his small chair. He couldn't lean very far back because the wall was less than half-an-inch behind him. Drake pulled out a business card and hurled it at the greasy manager.

"When she comes in, give me a call," he said. Lemming just grunted. Drake shrugged, yawned again, and headed for the manager's office door. He was almost out when, to his shock, a thin young woman appeared in the doorway. She had long, curly red hair, piercing green eyes, and an amazing figure, and she was carrying a cardboard box. When she saw Drake, the green eyes widened and the lovely jaw dropped in a look of frozen fear.

"Janet Redding?" said Drake. "I'm Paul Drake. I'm a private investigator for..."

Janet Redding didn't even wait for Drake to finish. She dropped the box on Drake's foot, turned, and ran.

Drake grimaced in momentary pain. He then hastily removed his foot from beneath the box and then kicked at it, sending it out the doorway. He ran through to see Janet Redding vaulting over the service counter with all the grace of an experienced gymnast. He leaped through the air, nearly tripping over the box he had kicked and landing stomach first on the counter. He again grimaced in pain. As he looked up, Janet was pushing her way through Lemming Burger's glass door.

Drake scrambled over the counter. He briefly struggled to regain solid footing, and then he burst across the room and burst through the glass door as swiftly as he could. Janet was already on the other side of the parking lot.

Drake sprinted across the parking lot. Janet stopped only for seconds to regain her breath and then took off again, in a wild and panicky run. Drake struggled to keep up. His legs ached and he was desperately huffing for breath. Janet raced across the street, heedless of the cars that were narrowly skidding to a halt to avoid her. Drake had no choice but to pursue in the same fashion. Across the street, Janet ran down the paved sidewalk and disappeared around a corner.

When Drake rounded the corner he could see Janet a few feet ahead of him. He tried to scream for her to stop, but he was panting to hard to get the words out. He increased the speed of his run, only to trip and crash headfirst into the asphalt.

Drake felt dizzy and his head throbbed as his lips kissed the road. He concentrated all his energy into lifting his head. The throbbing increased. Drake could taste the blood running out of his cracked lip.

With pain surging through every muscle, Drake lifted himself to his feet. He could no longer run. He just limped his way down the street. When he came to an intersection, he looked in every direction, but he could see no sign of Janet.

Drake felt like crying as he stood panting and desperately trying to figure out a plan. He simply picked a direction and tried to run again. As the pain stopped his slow hobble, his mind began to clear. He couldn't catch his witness by foot now. She had lost him. But if he could find her home address, he wouldn't need to run anymore. Janet could race all she wanted. She'd get tired eventually. And eventually she'd need to go home.

Drake laughed at himself and allowed himself to drop to a sitting position in the soft grass beside the road. All he needed to do was look her address up in a phone book and wait for her. It was that simple. And first he could take all the time he needed to rest.

> > > > > >

Perry Mason got off an elevator and smiled once again at the face of the Anders & Anderson receptionist.

"Mr. Anderson is waiting for you," said the receptionist.

"Thank you, ma'am," said Mason politely, nodding and moving to Jack Anderson's door.

As he pushed the door open, Jack Anderson was reclining peacefully in the chair behind his desk. As soon as Mason entered the room, Anderson jumped out of the chair and extended his hand to Mason. Mason shook it.

"My secretary, Ms. Street, said you wanted to see me," said Mason.

"Of course," said Anderson. "Have a seat."

Mason did so. Anderson returned to his own seat.

"Now," said Mason. "What is it I can do for you?"

"It's not what you can do for me," said Anderson. "It's what you can do for Helen Carmichael."

"I'm already doing everything I can for Helen Carmichael," said Mason.

"Not the way she tells it," said Anderson. "Not after her last appearance in court. I understand she tried to fire you."

"And what makes you so sure she didn't succeed?" asked Mason.

"She didn't know what she was saying," said Anderson. "She's just upset about what happened in court. What happened when you called her to the stand. She thinks you don't know what you're doing. But I know you better than that."

"Do you?" asked Mason.

"We're two and the same, Mr. Mason. Men of business. It's out whole life." Anderson reached beneath the desk and pulled out a glass and a bottle of scotch. "Can I get you something to drink?" Mason declined.

"Mr. Anderson, I do have work to do."

"Of course," said Anderson. "Let's come to the point. Helen had a talk with her friends. They all agreed firing you was a good idea. They came to me to see if I could recommend a good lawyer. A better lawyer than Perry Mason. I told them they were making a mistake and that there was no better lawyer than you. You're the best possible legal defense Helen could get." He took another sip of scotch. "Helen and her friends are very fascinating women."

"I noticed," said Mason.

"Interesting creatures," said Anderson. "And they're certainly... eh... well endowed."

"Did you really invite me here for a business meeting just so you could tell me that?" questioned Mason.

"I want to help you," said Anderson.

"How do you plan on helping me?" asked Mason.

"I need to convince Helen that you're still the only lawyer that can help her," said Anderson. "That little clique of wannabe models isn't going to do that, but I think I can. But I have to be able to tell Helen you still know what you're doing."

"So that's what this is all about," said Mason. "You want me to tell you why I had Helen confess that the anonymous letter was true."

Anderson's eyes lit up and a wide-grin spread across his face.

"We understand each other so well," said Anderson.

"Then you tell me why I did what I did," suggested Mason. Anderson's grin didn't fade. In fact, he laughed heartily.

"Mr. Mason, I'm simply asking the same question the whole world is right now," said Anderson. "What exactly was going through your head when you interrogated your own client?"

"First of all, I wish you wouldn't put it that way," said Mason. "Police interrogate. Lawyers examine and cross-examine."

"_Touche'_," declared Anderson, laughing again. He tilted the bottle of scotch towards Mason. "Are you sure you won't have any?"

"No thank you," said Mason. "Was there anything else you wanted to ask me?"

"You still haven't answered my first question," said Anderson.

"You're right," said Mason. "I haven't."

"Come on, Mr. Mason," said Anderson. "Don't be like this. You and I are too much alike. What motivates you, Mr. Mason? The same thing that motivates me. If you're going to succeed at your business you have to keep steadily striving at it."

"I hope it's not just that," said Mason.

"What then?" said Anderson.

"I'm not in this just for the business," said Mason. "I'm in it to help people. I entered law to search for justice. As a boy, I would read stories of men and women who were given the death penalty for crimes they may or may not have committed. And I decided to try to stop that. I decided to help protect the innocent. To fight for truth and justice."

"How long have you been a lawyer, Mr. Mason?"

"Some years now," said Mason. "It seems like it's been my whole life."

"And all those years you've committed yourself to helping people," said Anderson. "I'm trying to help someone, too. I just want what's best for Helen."

"That's very generous of you," said Mason. "But I don't see how talking to me is going to do that. I've already agreed to do everything I can to help her."

"Then let me in on the defense," said Anderson. "Tell me what your strategy is so I can take part in this. Are you trying to get Helen to enter a guilty plea? Are you trying to reduce the charges and lighten the sentence?"

"Mr. Anderson," said Mason. "The only way I can help Helen is by proving someone else killed Bill Anders. And the only way you can help me is if you have any idea who that someone else is."

"It wasn't me," said Anderson. "I'll tell you that much. I was speaking at a seminar in front of at least one hundred people at the time."

"That's true," said Mason. "But that still doesn't change the fact that you knew about Helen's plot to kill Bill Anders."

"Are you implying something?"

"How could I be?" said Mason. "I'm only here because you requested this meeting."

"I just want to help Helen in any way that I can," said Anderson.

"Perhaps there is some way you can do that," said Mason. "Tell me more about your partner. What motivated him?"

"Not business," said Anderson. "He wasn't like you and I, Mr. Mason. His life wasn't fully devoted to business. That was my job. I kept the business running smoothly. Bill, on the other hand, was, well, easily distracted. He could afford to be. Not only did he have all of the money he could want, he had all of the women he could want."

"If he wasn't devoted to business, what was he devoted to?" asked Mason. "Certainly not his women."

"That's exactly it," said Anderson. "Bill Anders wasn't about devotion. He was about living for the moment. He had everything that attracts women. Money. Charm. Rugged good looks. Women would come after him, and he'd let them. Can you really blame him? But Bill Anders wasn't looking for devotion. He was just looking for a good time. The problem with women is, they want different things out of a relationship than men do. You date them more than once, and they expect you to marry them. They think it's true love, and that it's going to last forever. When it doesn't last forever, but ends suddenly, they take it personally. They think if it's no longer love it must be hate, even when some claim they still want to be friends."

"Are you saying Bill Anders wasn't a louse?"

"Oh, no," said Anderson. "Bill Anders was definitely a louse. But have you ever noticed that women like louses? They go for bad boys. They like the challenge. They think their different than any other women have been, and that they are going to tame the beast. They try to make men into something they're not, and when they fail, hearts get broken. It wasn't really Bill's fault, if you think about it. All these women were just asking too much of him. And that was the problem between Bill and Helen. She just wanted too much from him."

"We could sit here and discuss the difference between the sexes all day," said Mason. "But I do have business to get to."

"I just want to ask you one more time, Mr. Mason," said Anders. "What is your strategy with this case?"

"Like you said," said Mason, "we're both men of business. So you should realize that this business is business between Helen and I, and none of your business. Good day, Mr. Anderson."

As Mason left the room, Anderson poured himself another glass of scotch.

> > > > > >

Mason turned to the receptionist outside.

"I feel I should know your name by now," he said.

"Ms. Bellridge," said the woman. "You're the lawyer representing the woman they think killed Mr. Anders?"

"I am," said Mason.

"I don't know if it will help you," said Ms. Bellridge. "But business didn't always run smoothly between Mr. Anders and Mr. Anderson. Right before Mr. Anders went on his last business trip, I heard raised voices coming from behind this door."

"Do you know what it was all about?" asked Mason.

"Probably some matter of business," said Ms. Bellridge. "They were always arguing over business decisions. They always had two completely different points of view. It was nothing new. I think their last argument had something to do with some kind of big merger."

"Thank you, Ms. Bellridge," said Mason. "You've been a wonderful help to me. Now if I could just talk to you a little longer..."

> > > > > >

There were about ten different Janet Reddings living in Los Angeles according to the telephone book. Paul Drake chose the four closest to Lemming Burger and called them. Three Janet Redding's answered. One was twelve, one was fifty, and one was ninety years old. Paul Drake decided to try the house he had received no answer at.

As Drake sat in his car across from Janet Redding's house, he began to yawn once again. Feeling tired and restless, something compelled him to get out of his car and walk across the street.

Drake tried the door handle. It was unlocked. As he entered the house, he began to study his surroundings carefully. He found a play program on the ground advertising a nearby community theater's production of "The Mousetrap." Drake picked up the program to study it, only to be interrupted by the sound of the door handle. The footsteps that followed sounded nothing like Janet Redding's nimble tread. They sounded more like the footsteps of a football line-backer.

Paul Drake quickly hid himself in the nearest closet. He tried to hold his breath and listen to the sounds around him. He heard the sound of heavy footsteps. He heard the sound of heavy breathing. Then he heard the sound he had dreaded the most. He heard the sound of the doorknob turning.


	10. Paul Drake's Further Adventures

_Disclaimer: I own no rights to Perry Mason or related characters or trademarks. That aside…_

**A/N: _I'm sorry I've taken so long to update. Between writer's block and homework, it's been hard finding time to continue. Thank you for all the reviews while I was putting this story on hiatus._**

**monica100****: _It's good to hear from you again. I hope you enjoy this next chapter, and feel free to comment again anytime you'd like._**

**BeccaRamsey****: _Thank you for your comments. It's good to get a fresh perspective on this story._**

**remark****: _I'm glad you're enjoying this. I hope you'll like the next chapters just as much._**

Paul Drake held his breath as the _click_ of the doorknob sounded. The door slowly creeped open, and Drake could feel warm breath on his face. A man's face looked into his.

"Hey? What are you…!"

Drake's adrenaline rushed. He acted solely on instinct. Without thinking, he brought his fist crashing into the other man's face.

The man stumbled back, and Drake burst out of the closet. The man held out a broad arm to stop Drake from fleeing. Drake crashed into the arm and then swung around to throw another punch. He hit square on the nose, causing the man to stumble back again. As Drake again tried to flee, the other man threw out a leg, tripping Drake and causing him to stumble to the ground.

Drake crawled towards the front door, only to be stopped by a swift kick to the side. Drake collapsed onto his back, cringing in pain. The other man's brawny leg swung out to kick Drake again. This time, Drake caught the other man by the foot and twisted it. The other man howled. Drake then pushed the foot back, causing the man to fall with a _thud _onto his back. Drake walked over to the man and kicked him. The man fell back, grimaced, and then attempted to rise to his feet again. Drake kneed the man in the face, knocking him back into the ground. He then crawled on top of the man and began firing rapid punches into the man's face.

Even beneath the rapidly flowing adrenaline, something in Drake's brain cried out to him. He had invaded this house. He had no right to be here. He had no idea who he was beating up. And, even being acquainted with the best lawyer in L.A., Drake couldn't afford a lawsuit.

As Drake paused to ponder this, a fist darted up and struck him in the nose. Drake took it like a man.

The two men now breathed heavily as they studied each other from behind bloody lips and noses.

"Who are you?" asked Drake.

"I'll ask the questions here," said the other man. "Who are you?"

"Fair enough." The other man showed concern as Drake reached towards his coat pocket. "I'm just looking for my badge. You can take it for me, if you'd like."

"Are you a cop?" The man didn't say it with any kind of fear or contempt. It was just a casual question. Drake shook his head.

"Private investigator. I work for a man named Perry Mason."

"The famous lawyer? What does he want from me?"

"Nothing. I'm not even sure who you are. I'm looking for a woman named Janet Redding. Does she live here?"

The other man nodded.

"I'm Bradley Smythe," he said. "You can just call me Brad. I'm Janet's fiancé'."

The two men shook hands.

"How did you get in here?" asked Brad.

"The door was unlocked. Does Janet leave it that way often?" asked Drake.

"All the time. I keep trying to remind her to lock it. This can be a dangerous city. The girl's going to end up robbed or killed one of these days," said Brad.

"I hope not," said Drake.

"What does Perry Mason want with Janet?"

"I'm not quite sure," admitted Drake. "Mr. Mason believes Ms. Redding may be able to give testimony in the Helen Carmichael case."

"I've been following that case in the papers," remarked Brad. "I still don't see how Janet has anything to do with this."

"I don't either. All I know is that Mr. Mason would just like to talk to her. Do you have any idea where she is?"

"I was expecting to find her here myself," said Brad. "Maybe she's hanging around the theater."

"Movie theater?"

"No. Community theater. She's always auditioning or rehearsing there. Haven't you noticed all of her posters and playbills?"

Drake took another look at his surroundings. He now noticed the posters hanging on every wall. A crude sketch of a woman on a poster for _"Oklahoma!"_ bore a strong resemblance to Janet Redding.

"She's an actress," continued Brad. "She's going to be a movie star."

"Can you tell me how to get to this theater?"

"I'll take you there right now if you want."

> > > > > >

Before getting in Bradley Smythe's car, Paul Drake made a telephone call to Perry Mason's office. After Mason listened to Drake's progress report and hung up, the phone rang again. Della Street lifted the receiver.

"Perry Mason's office," Della chimed. After nodding for a few moments, Della intoned, "Please hold on for a moment."

"A young woman that wants to have dinner with you," said Della. "When are you available?"

"That depends on the woman," replied Mason.

"Kay Silvers," said Della.

"In that case I'm free this evening."

> > > > > >

Perry Mason straightened his best black silk tie as he approached Kay Silvers at her table at LeFontaines. Kay was wearing a pale pink dress that brought out the color in her beautiful pink lips, now curled into a frown. Her blue eyes were solid, unwavering, and sexier than ever. She cut into a steak on a plate in front of her.  
"You're late," said Kay coldly.

"Busy day at the office," said Mason. "Didn't Miss Street tell you I was squeezing you in?"

A waiter appeared at the table, carrying a bottle of fine wine.

"Another bottle," said the waiter. "Just as you specified, Ms. Silvers."

Kay tasted the wine and found it to her approval.

"Order anything you'd like, Mr. Mason. I'll pay for dinner."

"Really, that's not necessary," said Mason. "I'd like to be able to say I bought a beautiful young woman dinner. That doesn't happen that often."

"I'd hate to disappoint you," said Kay. "But this isn't a date. I have a proposal for you."

"Thank you for your offer," said Mason. "I'm truly flattered. But I enjoy the bachelor life much too much."

Kay Silvers was not amused.

"I'm talking business, Mr. Mason," said Kay.

"What kind of business would I possibly like to do with you, Ms. Silvers?"

"My best friend fired you," said Kay simply.

"Your best friend tried to fire me," corrected Mason. "She didn't really mean it, though, and I'm still working for her. And working hard, I might add."

"You might think you still work for her," said Kay. "But I know better. Helen had a long talk with Susan, Natalie, and I. Helen's not sure whether she wants to keep paying for you anymore."

"Jack Anderson told me about that," said Mason. "He says you're all against me."

"That's not true," said Kay. "I'm against you. Natalie, on the other hand, is still for you. She insists you know what you're doing. Susan doesn't really care either way. This brings us to my proposal."

"I'll listen over a New York Strip, medium well," said Mason, ordering from the waiter, who had now returned to the table. Mason tried to make small talk with Kay as he waited for his meal, but this only annoyed the young lady. While she was trying to put on an air of power and authority, she was obviously flustered underneath.

When Mason cut into his steak and found it to his approval, Kay finally opened her sexy lips to speak again.

"I'm giving you a chance to defend yourself," said Kay. "Tell me where you're going with your defense, and I'll help persuade Helen to keep paying for your services."

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that," said Mason. "It would be unprofessional."

"What you did to Helen was unprofessional," said Kay. "You forced her to incriminate herself."

"That sounds too harsh," said Mason. "I counseled Ms. Carmichael to incriminate herself."

"I want it to sound harsh!" snapped Kay. "You made her confess she was plotting to murder Bill Anders. You added credence to that anonymous letter, which you said earlier was the prosecution's best weapon. Why?"

"Jack Anderson just asked me the same thing," said Mason.

"I don't care about Jack Anderson. I just want answers!" Kay pounded the table. Her ample breasts heaved as she panted in frustration and anger.

Mason waited silently for Kay to calm down.

"Why does it mean so much to you?"

"Why? Why, you have the nerve to ask?" spat Kay. Her cheeks took on a pink flush to match her dress and lips. "Helen's my best friend. I won't just stand by and watch you crucify her!"

"Crucifixion is no longer practiced in this country, Ms. Silvers," said Mason calmly.

"You know what I mean," snarled Kay. "If this foolishness is actually genius, which Natalie keeps trying to insist, I want you to explain it to me. What's your strategy? What could Helen possibly gain from giving that testimony?"

"Ms. Carmichael asked me that question, and I tried to explain to her already. Mr. Anderson asked me the same question. He wasn't satisfied with my answers, either. Now, Ms. Silvers, why should I answer the same question for you? I hop not just because you're paying for my steak and wearing your best pink dress, which looks very lovely on you, by the way."

Kay's cheeks now went from light pink to dark red.

"Because I can persuade Helen to seek other legal council, if necessary," said Kay, her eyes still blue and solid.

"That doesn't matter, Ms. Silvers," said Mason. "Helen will make the right decision in the end. And I'll be ready when she does. Now, I ask you again, why are you and Anderson so concerned about this?"

"I don't know about that chump Anderson," said Kay, her whole face now red with anger. "But I'm concerned for Helen."

"Are you?" said Mason. "Or are you just concerned something unexpected will come up during the trial. For example, are you worried I might reveal that Helen Carmichael wasn't the only woman with a reason to want Bill Anders dead?"

He looked straight into Kay's blue eyes. For the first time that night, they flickered.

"Is that a threat?"

Perry Mason rose from his seat and scanned Kay from her dark brunette hair down to the skirt of her pink dress.

"You really are well endowed." He removed a handful of bills from his wallet and placed them on the table. "Thank you for dinner, Ms. Silvers, but we'll go Dutch."

With that, Mason left the restaurant whistling.


	11. Janet Redding

**BeccaRamsey****: _I'm glad you enjoyed reading the dinner scene. I enjoyed writing it. I hope you enjoy this next chapter just as much._**

The Richmond Community Theater was bustling with activity as Brad Smythe parked his car. Paul Drake looked out the window and was amazed to see that it was snowing. In reality, the snow was large balls of cotton. A man who appeared to be on the verge of a panic attack was anxiously chasing down the cotton to glue it with more cotton on paper cut-outs ofevergreen trees. The gusts of people walking by oblivious to the man's plight were causing balls of the cotton to fly from the man's arms, thus creating the illusion of snow.

"They're preparing for a Christmas production of Dicken's 'A Christmas Carol' a couple months from now," explained Smythe. "Janet's playing Belle, Young Scrooge's love interest. I'll go ask someone if you've seen her."

As Smythe walked in one direction around the theater, Drake started moving in the other. At first he was jarred by the sound of heavy chains being dragged inches from his feet. He was then nearly trampled by a man in a foreboding black hood and robe, puffs of smoke from a cigarette coming from beneath the hood. A large woman in period costume stepped down firmly on Drake's foot and didn't even apologize as she walked by. A small child limped by uttering over and over, "God bless us, everyone."

Drake kept his eyes peeled for the beautiful red head he'd been pursuing. He stopped the man carrying cotton and asked if he would mind talking.

"Just make it fast," said the man. "Do you know how hard it is to find snow in California?" Drake would have laughed if he hadn't recognized that the man wasn't joking. He asked about Janet. The man just snickered. He explained that she was holding up the entire rehearsal. Everyone had been frantically looking for her and hadn't found any trace of her. No, it wasn't like her to show up to a rehearsal late. She usually was very early. Yes, there was a friend of hers who Janet often contacted before arriving at the theater. No, she hadn't contacted her this evening. Drake began to get worried, but when he asked who, the man pointed to a woman in a sweater covered in pictures of holly and ivy. A red headed woman approached her and began to talk anxiously to her. "Oh," said the man pasting fake snow to fake trees. "There she is."

Drake didn't need to be told this.

Paul Drake slowly approached the two women. He was silent, hoping the conversation would keep Janet occupied so that he could get close enough to grab her if she tried to run again. As he was thinking this, Janet looked up from her conversation. Her eyes became wide. Her friend looked startled as well. Drake lunged forward, but Janet was already moving again, and moving fast. As Drake ran to the corner of the theater, the other woman threw her arms around him to slow him down. He tried to struggle out of her grip, but she was strong. Under any other circumstances, Drake would have enjoyed this. As the case was, he pushed out as harshly as he could and sent the young woman staggering back. Muttering apologies, Drake rushed around the corner. Janet was already out of sight, but as Drake rounded the next corner, he caught a glimpse of red hair again.

Janet was rushing towards a car in the parking lot. Once she reached that car, Drake would never be able to catch up to her on foot. He thought of turning to seek out his new friend, but then two strong arms wrapped themselves around Janet. It was Brad Smythe.

Smythe was muttering something softly into Janet's ears as Drake took his time approaching the two.

"I think we found her," he said.

"Baby, this is my new friend," said Smythe. "Paul Drake. He's a detective working for Mr. Perry Mason, the famous lawyer."

"I know who he is," said Janet, looking ready to spit in Drake's face. "I don't want to talk to him."

"It's Mr. Mason that wants to talk to you," said Drake.

"I don't want to talk to him neither. Why can't you just leave me alone? I don't know what you want," said Janet.

"Calm down, honey," saidSmythe soothingly. "There's no reason we can't all be friendly now. Let's all go out and get something to eat and we'll all be in a better mood then."

Janet's face just showed hatred and contempt for Drake, but her boyfriend's loving but powerful grip wasn't giving her much choice in the matter. She allowed her boyfriend to get into her car with her as he instructed Drake to follow them in his car.

> > > > > >

The cars stopped at the Stanley Gardens Café'. It wasn't the classiest restaurant in L.A., but it was a step in quality above Lemming Burgers. Janet Redding seemed to be calming down as she sipped the coffee. She was sitting next to the wall, with Brad Smythe sitting next to her at the end of the booth and blocking her way to the aisle. Drake was sitting on the other side of the booth facing the other two.

"How do you know Helen Carmichael?" asked Drake.

"Helen who?" said Janet. Her voice was bitter, raspy, but at the same time sensuous. She definitely possessed a great deal of stage presence.

"You know who I mean," said Drake. "Helen Carmichael. The girl on trial."

"I've never seen the girl before in my life," said Janet. She sounded sincere, but she was also an experienced actress. Drake had never seen her act before, so he had no idea how skilled she was at making lies appear to be the truth.

"Why were you at her court appearance, then?"

"Just a random court case. I wanted to see the show."

"Honey, tell him the truth," said Smythe. Janet looked extremely offended as she turned to her boyfriend.

"You don't even believe me? I can't believe my own man doesn't believe me."

"But, honey…"

"I thought I might get cast as a lawyer someday. I was researching the part," insisted Janet.

"By watching Mr. Mason?" questioned Drake.

"No. By watching Hamilton Burger."

"How about Bill Anders?"

"Bill Anders? Who's that?"

"The man Helen Carmichael is on trial for killing. How well did you know him?"

"I never met the guy."

"That seems strange. He's met almost every woman in Los Angeles."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure he was a great guy."

"He's not an ex-boyfriend of yours? A brief encounter in your past, perhaps? Was there any reason you might have believed he deserved to die?"

"I had nothing against the guy," insisted Janet.

"That makes you one woman that didn't," said Drake.

Janet began to slide down thebooth toward the aisle. Smythe put a hand on her leg to signal her to stop.

"I need to use the ladies room," said Janet. Drake nodded to Smythe, signaling this was acceptable. The other man rose, allowing the lady to slide out of the booth and rise in the aisle. She stepped quickly towards the restrooms.

> > > > > >

Five minutes passed. Drake ran to the restrooms. He paced around, waiting. Five more minutes passed. Drake braced himself and then pushed through the door to the ladies room. Women screamed, slapped him, and swung their purses at his shoulders, despite Drake's most adamant apologies. He kicked down the door to each stall but, unfortunately, or fortunately, they were empty. He finally made it to the wall on the opposite side of the restroom from the door. A window had been forced wide open. Drake could see a fresh set of footprints in the ground outside leading to the road.

Drake returned to his booth.

"She ran again," he announced.

"Silly girl," said Smythe. "I'll go check for her back at her place."

"I don't think she'd go back there now," said Drake. "Is there any place else she'd run to? A friend's house? A relative's?"

Smythe just shook his head.

> > > > > >

The next day, Janet Redding rose with a smile from her comfortable bed at the Maltese Falk Inn. She was in a good mood as she wrapped her hotel bathrobe around her and decided to head for continental breakfast in the lobby. As she opened the door, her path was blocked by the familiar figure of Paul Drake. He gently forced her back inside and slammed and locked the door behind him. Janet moved to the window and began to force it open.

"I wouldn't try escaping that way if I were you," said Drake. "You see that man staring at his watch down there? He works for me. There's another man that works for me waiting at the end of this hall, and another one guarding the hotel's main entrance. There's another one guarding the back door."

Janet sighed defeatedly and dropped down onto the hotel bed.

"You know, I had to call just about everyone in my agency to catch you," said Drake. "I have to pay them all for this. There were others staking out every hotel this side of Los Angeles watching for you. May I use your phone?"

Janet simply remained silent. Drake smiled and whistled as he dialed.

"Good work, Paul," said Mason heartily. "Just make sure she doesn't go anywhere."

"You don't have to worry about that," said Drake. "Not this time."

"I'm going to need to have a long talk with Ms. Redding. I'm on my way with a subpoena right now. And Paul, after I get there I want you to leave and start checking every store that sells shoes you can. Start by the Anders and Anderson building."

"What am I looking for?"

"Ask the salesmen if they remember someone coming in and purchasing a pair of women's high-heeled shoes, size 8, in the last month."

"Are you crazy?" asked Drake, not for the first time in his friendship with Perry Mason. "Do you know how many pairs of shoes like that they sell in a day, let alone a month? Why should they remember these?"

"I think they'll remember this pair. Let me explain why…"

> > > > > >

After finishing the conversation with Drake, Mason hung up and turned to Della.

"Would you mind giving Taylor & Jackson in Chicago a call?"

"What for?" asked Della. "And what's this about the girl and the pair of shoes?"

"I'm just trying my hand at preparing a case for the prosecution," said Mason. "Against Bill Anders' true killer." He grinned slyly.

"Hamilton Burger will object," insisted Della.

"That's never stopped me before," replied Mason in a sing-song voice. He kissed his secretary gently on the top of her head, obviously in high spirits.

**A/N: _Well, readers. Here's your chance to play detective. I've given you all the clues. Have you followed Perry Mason's train of thought? Did Helen Carmichael really kill Bill Anders? If she didn't, who did, and why? You only have a chapter or two left to guess._**


	12. A Trial Resumes

**_monica100 - T_hank you for the trivia. I've tried to make sure I've revealed all of the necessary clues. I hope nothing comes across as "deux es machina."  
**

**_A/N – _I'm sorry I've abandoned this story for so long. Ughh! College. You all understand, I'm sure. I'm sorry I've left you hanging so long. Anyway, let's pick up right we're we left off…**

The California sky was gray on the morning the trial for Helen Carmichael resumed.

Hamilton Burger was positively smirking as Natalie Culp sat before him as a witness for the prosecution. Now that his opponent had led Helen Carmichael to confess to plotting murder, he only had to confirm what she had already said.

"I suppose that depends on your definition of plotting murder," said Helen in response to Burger's question.

"How many definitions of plotting murder are there, Ms. Culp?"

Natalie just sat in silence for a minute.

"Please, answer the question, Ms. Culp."

"Hold on a minute. I'm thinking."

The entire court room erupted into laughter as Natalie grinned wickedly.

"I don't think you understand the seriousness of this matter," said Burger, trying his best to remain calm.

"Perhaps it would be best if the Prosecution was to rephrase the question," suggested Judge Green.

"Ms. Culp, were you traveling in a train compartment with three other women earlier this month?"

"Yes, I was."

"Could you tell me who the three other women were?"

"Of course. Madonna, Britney, and Christina."

Again, the courtroom erupted in laughter. Burger's tan cheeks began to show traces of red. Before Burger could speak, Natalie responded to his glare.

"Ms. Kay Silvers and Ms. Susan Cook."

"And the defendant?"

"And the defendant, Ms. Helen Carmichael."

"While on this train ride, did the defendant make remarks about William Anders, her lover at the time?"

"That's a highly personal question," said Natalie, crossing her slender arms over her breasts. "I refuse to answer it."

Burger looked at the judge and slowly rolled his eyes.

"Ms. Culp, please answer the question," instructed Judge Green.

"We joked a little bit about Bill Anders," admitted Natalie.

"What do you mean by joking?"

"I mean making humorous statements," said Natalie. "How many other definition are there?" Now she was smirking. Again, the courtroom was filled with laughter. The judge banged her gavel to silence the courtroom.

"What kind of humorous statements did you make about Mr. Anders?" asked Burger.

"I joked that Helen should destroy Mr. Anders' collection of Barry Manilou records. Helen joked that she would shove a knife through Anders' heart instead."

"I don't find that very funny, Ms. Culp."

"If you knew Bill Anders you would have found it hilarious."

Burger groaned and rolled his eyes again.

"Your witness, Mr. Mason."

"Ms. Culp," said Mason gently as he approached her, "I would like to hear that last joke again. The joke Helen Carmichael made, exactly as she made it."

Natalie looked at Mason curiously, trying to read his thoughts. Try as she might, Natalie could find no indication of what was happening in the lawyer's head.

"I can't remember exactly," said Natalie. "Something like, 'I'll take his letter opener, and shove it through his stupid heart.' Something crazy like that."

"Humorous indeed," said Mason calmly. "Tell me, Ms. Culp, haven't you told similar jokes?"

"I don't understand."

"What was your relationship with Mr. Anders, Ms. Culp?"

"There was none. He was dating Helen."

"I mean before that."

"Objection!" said Burger. "Immaterial and irrelevant."

"I assure you, Your Honor, it is quite relevant," said Mason.

"Overruled," said Judge Green.

"Ms. Culp, didn't you and Mr. Anders once have a dating relationship."

Natalie opened her mouth to speak, but then she just bit her lip and gently nodded.

"Could you answer that audibly, Ms. Culp?" requested Mason. "So that the whole courtroom could hear you?"

"Yes!" shouted Natalie angrily. She blushed slightly, squirmed down in her seat, and bit her lip again.

"After your relationship ended, didn't you _joke_ about having dreams in which Bill Anders died?"

"Objection!" shouted Burger. "Ms. Culp is not the one on trial here."

"Your Honor, a large part of the case against my client has been that she had motive to murder Bill Anders," said Mason. "I'm just trying to show that she wasn't the only person with motive."

"Overruled," said the judge. "But, Mr. Mason, let's try to keep this within reason."

"Of course, Your Honor," said Mason. He turned back to Natalie. "Didn't you even _joke_, once or twice, about taking some sort of long, sharp object, and inserting it into Bill Ander's heart?"

Natalie again sat in silence. This time, no witty rejoinder was coming to mind.

"Ms. Culp?"

"Yes," she answered softly.

"Did you not also, at some other time, make some sort of humorous statement about Mr. Anders being a creep who needed a knife shoved through his arteries?"

"Yes," answered Natalie. "May I step down now?"

"Yes, you may," said Mason. "Thank you."

> > > > > >

Hamilton Burger subjected Kay Silvers to a line of questioning similar to that of Natalie Culp's.

"Yes," said Kay. "Helen did make some sort of sly comment about stabbing Bill Anders. But she didn't mean it."

"I don't think you can safely say whether or not Ms. Carmichael meant what she said," stated Burger.

"Yes, I can," said Kay. "Helen's my best friend. I think I can tell whether or not she really means something that she says."

"Let's just have the facts, please, Ms. Silvers," said Burger. "What exactly did Ms. Carmichael say?"

"I can't remember perfectly," said Kay.

"Did she make a remark about the item she was going to use to stab Mr. Anders?"

"She wasn't going to stab Bill Anders," said Kay. "I told you, she didn't mean what she said."

"Did she make a remark about when she was going to stab Mr. Anders?"

"I told you," growled Kay fiercely, "she wasn't ever going to stab Anders."

"Did she make a remark about Mr. Anders' letter opener?"

"She did."

"Did she not say that she was going to stab Mr. Anders with this letter opener?"

"She might have."

"Did she make a remark about Mr. Anders' pajamas?" asked Burger.

"I don't think so," said Kay. "At least, it's hard to remember. She might have."

"That will be all, Ms. Silvers," said Burger.

"People make threats all the time, Mr. Burger," said Kay. "That doesn't mean they always carry them out."

Mason stepped towards Kay.

"Ms. Silvers, how long had you know Mr. Anders?"

"About one year," said Kay.

"Did you meet him before or after he and Natalie Culp started a relationship?" asked Mason.

"After."

"What was your impression of Mr. Anders?"

"I didn't care much for him. Natalie seemed to really like him, though."

"Ms. Silvers, did something happen between you and Mr. Anders? Something you didn't tell Ms. Culp or Ms. Carmichael about?"

"I'm not sure I know what you're saying."

"I'm sorry," said Mason. "That was vague. Did Bill Anders ever act inappropriately towards you?" He saw a lump rise in Kay's throat.

"He flirted," said Kay. "But he flirted with everyone. He would flirt with me right in front of Natalie while they were dating."

"I'm talking about a time Mr. Anders might have done more than just flirt."

Kay tried to keep a look of dignity and control, but emotion was flooding her face far too quickly. She looked down at her beautiful soft hands folded in her lap.

"He and I were alone together," she said. "We had been out with Natalie and Helen. Anders gave the three of us rides back to our homes. He dropped Helen and Natalie off first." She stopped and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She failed and choked as she continued.

"Anders made a wrong turn and parked the car in some alley way. He crawled into the back seat with me. Said it would be good for us to get to know each other. He grabbed my hair and forced me to kiss him."

She stopped and jerked her head up. She then began to rub her hand. She had reacted to the odd sensation caused when warm tears hit her cold hands.

"He reached his hand up my skirt and began to rub my legs. I slapped him. Hard." She clenched her teeth. "I told him if he ever tried something like that again I'd do worse."

"Was this while Mr. Anders was dating Helen Carmichael?"

"No. He was dating Natalie Culp. I didn't tell her about this because she thought he was such a great guy and I didn't want to ruin things for her. The two broke up a little while later."

"You never told this to anyone, did you?" asked Mason. "Not even after Bill and Helen started a relationship of their own?"

"No," said Kay. "But I tried to talk Helen out of dating Bill. Both Natalie and I did. But Helen wouldn't listen. What were we supposed to do?" Kay dropped her head again. "I could have killed Anders."

> > > > > >

Susan Cook responded to Hamilton Burger much more easily than Natalie or Kay had.

"It's all true," she said. She lowered her head as Kay had done, only to avoid Natalie, Kay, and Helen's eyes. "She said that Anders would be alone Saturday night. She said the maid would be out and that she had the key to get in. She swore she was going to take the letter opener she had given Anders and run him through with it. She swore." She took a deep breath. "And I don't think she was joking. I think she meant what she said. I think she really killed Bill Anders."

Tears ran down Susan's face and soaked her curly blonde hair. She burst out of her seat and ran for the doors in the back of the courtroom. Though several tried to catch her, no one could retain the force of her passion. She had betrayed her best friends, and she was suffering for it.

Natalie slowly rose and ran to comfort her friend. Kay soon followed.

"I have no questions for this witness, Your Honor," said Mason.

Hamilton Burger cleared his throat and regained his composure.

"For my next witness, I call…"

**_A/N _– Figured it out yet? This is your last chance. When we return, all will be revealed. **


	13. A Trial Concludes

_Disclaimer – I own no rights to Erle Stanley Gardner's characters, Dean Hargrove's television show, or Fred Steiner's amazing theme music._

**A/N _– All bet's are off. Here's the moment we've been waiting for. To all my readers, thank you for coming along with me on this trip. It's been one year since I first started this fan novel. I hope the ending proves worth waiting for. I think it only fitting that now, on the one-year anniversary of when I first started writing this, "The Case of the Lifeless Lothario" comes to a conclusion…_**

"Mr. Jack Anderson," said Hamilton Burger.

Anderson walked slowly to the front of the courtroom, straightened his tie, and sat down.

"Mr. Anderson, you were not traveling on the same train as Ms. Culp, Ms. Cook, Ms. Silvers, and Ms. Carmichael, were you?" asked Burger.

"No, I was not."

"Yet you still heard about Ms. Carmichael's plot to murder your business partner, Bill Anders?"

"Yes, I did."

"How did you hear this?"

"I heard it from Helen," said Anderson. "I took her out to dinner. To Slam Duncan's, the sports bar and grill. She told me all about how she and my partner had broken up and how she wanted to murder him."

"What was your reaction to this at the time?" asked Burger.

"I thought she was only joking, at the time."

"And now?"

"Objection," said Mason calmly.

"No further questions," responded Burger. Mason approached Anderson.

"Mr. Anderson, how long had you and Mr. Anders been business partners?" asked Mason.

"Since the business was started," said Anderson. "A long time now. I'm not sure just how many years."

"And now that Anders is dead, you are sole owner of the business?"

"That's true."

"That sounds like a pretty good motive for murder to me," said Mason.

"Objection," said Burger.

"Again, Your Honor," said Mason, "I'm only trying to show that others besides my client had reason to want Bill Anders dead."

"Overruled," declared the Judge.

"That's not much motive, really," said Anderson. "Anders and I were a team. The business wouldn't have been anywhere near as successful as it was without Bill. I was perfectly happy with the partnership the way it was."

"But didn't you and Anders have an argument a matter of weeks before Anders was killed?"

"Who told you that?" demanded Anderson.

"Your receptionist, Ms. Bellridge," explained Mason. "I could have her take the stand and testify that she heard raised voices coming from your office."

"There's no need for that. It's all true."

"Would you mind sharing with us what the argument was about?"

"It's hard to say," said Anderson. "My partner and I had a lot of arguments. It's one of the joys of co-owning a business."

"Didn't the argument involve a merger?" asked Mason. "A merger between Anders & Anderson and Taylor & Jackson?"

"Well, it…"

"Mr. Anders was excited about this merger. He thought it would provide a huge boost for your business. But there was one major concession Taylor & Jackson asked that Anders & Anderson make before they would go through with the merger. Would you mind sharing what that concession was with the court?"

Anderson tugged at his tie and tried to smile disarmingly.

"I don't remember any concession," he said.

"Let me help refresh your memory, then," said Mason. "Didn't Taylor & Jackson request your resignation before they would go through with the merger?"

Anderson's face registered shock for only a moment. He smiled again and just stared blankly towards the back of the court room.

"That was the concession, wasn't it, Mr. Anderson?" asked Mason. "Rowena Taylor was pleased with the business, but she had one misgiving about the merger. She didn't trust you. The only way she would allow a merger between her business and Anders & Anderson was if Anders would drop the Anderson."

"Sure," said Anderson. "And I guess Bill considered it. But he would never betray his partner like that."

"Do you know a Mr. Lao Ming?"

Anderson shook his head.

"No?" said Mason. "Well, he remembers you. I can have him come up here and give testimony. He's a sales clerk at Mart's. He remembers you because not many men come in and purchase size 8 high-heeled women's shoes. Not even when they claim the shoes are a gift for their wife."

"Objection," said Burger.

"Overruled," said the Judge.

"Do you know a Ms. Janet Redding?" asked Mason. Again, Anderson shook his head. "Yes, you do. She can come up here and testify to that fact. Only you know her better as Trixie Powers, the actress."

Anderson jumped to his feet.

"Lies!" he cried. "These are all bold-faced lies!"

"Mr. Anderson, where were you between 7:00 and 9:00 the night Bill Anders was murdered?"

"I spoke at a dinner convention," said Anderson. "There must have been at least a hundred people there."

"But where were you between 6:00 and 7:00 that same night?"

"Why does that matter?"

"Because that's the time during which Bill Anders was really murdered!" declared Mason boldly. Everyone in the courtroom gasped.

"Objection!" cried Burger. "Mr. Anderson is not on trial!"

Mason ignored Burger's protest as he began to circle Anderson.

"Anders really had requested your resignation, hadn't he, Mr. Anderson?" asked Mason. "He was going to put you out of business. He was making you resign from one of the most successful businesses in the country. You knew if he died you would inherit the whole thing. Then you decided to kill him, didn't you?"

Anderson remained silent.

"Objection!" Burger called again.

"All you needed was a plot," said Mason. "And then you took Helen Carmichael out to dinner. And she gave you one. It was much too convenient."

"Objection!" Burger called again. Mason began to speak faster.

"You decided to carry out Ms. Carmichael's plot, didn't you, Mr. Anderson? With only a few small alterations? That way, Ms. Carmichael would take the blame for her own plot. Your only problem was this; she had confided the plot in you."

"Objection!" said Burger. Anderson glanced at the prosecuting attorney's face and noticed it was once again taking on a reddish glow.

"So you wrote an anonymous letter to the police," continued Mason. "You gave them all of the details of the plot Helen had given you. You then went to your partner's house at about 6:00 on Saturday."

"Objection!"

"What did you do next, Mr. Anderson?" demanded Mason. "You met him in his study, didn't you? You then struck him unconscious with his paper weight. You then grabbed a letter opener. It was the one that Ms. Carmichael had given Mr. Anders for his birthday, wasn't it?"

"Objec- -"

"You then dragged Mr. Anders into his bedroom. You were already familiar with many of your partner's unusual habits. You changed him into his pajamas because that was the way Helen Carmichael had plotted it and because that way it would seem Anders had been killed between 7:00 and 9:00 rather than between 6:00 and 7:00. Didn't you?"

"Obj- -"

"Didn't you then proceed to leave behind a tube of lipstick that you had stolen from the defendant, Mr. Anderson? And then afterwards, didn't you change into the pair of size 8 women's shoes that you had purchased? You then deliberately walked across the moist ground alongside Mr. Anders' driveway to leave traces. Is that not true?"

"Oh, Your Honor! This is really too much."

"Mr. Mason, will you please…?"

"But there was one more problem," said Mason. "You realized that an anonymous letter doesn't carry very much weight in court. So you hired an actress, Janet Redding, alias Trixie Powers, to act the part of the anonymous writer. You offered her money to approach the prosecuting attorney and claim that she had traveled in a train compartment near Helen Carmichael's, and that she had overheard Ms. Carmichael discussing the plot with her friends. Isn't that true, _you murderer_?"

"Objection!" screamed Burger at the top of his lungs. His face had now turned completely dark red, like blood.

"Your Honor," said Mason, "I would like to call Janet Redding to the stand."

"Alright!" screamed Anderson. The entire court now became silent. "It's true. It's all true. Anderson had everything he wanted. Money. Power. Girls. I hated him for it. This business was all I had, and he knew it. He was going to take that away from me. He was going to betray me, his partner, his friend, his brother. And for what? For another one of his girls. I killed him. I killed him exactly like you said I did. He didn't leave me much of a choice." Anderson took a deep breath. "He was a louse, and he deserved what he got. I'm the best friend Anders ever had. We were like brothers. And even I think he deserved what he got."

There was dead silence.

"Your Honor, I now move that all charges against the defendant be dropped," said Mason calmly.

Hamilton Burger sighed heavily, choking for breath. Still red-faced, he softly gasped, "I have no objection, Your Honor."

"Charges dropped," said Judge Julie Green. "Bailiff, please take the witness into custody. Case dismissed."

Jack Anderson stared at Helen Carmichael as he was being dragged out of the courtroom.

"This is all your fault, you self-centered, manipulative flirt!" he said, spitting at her. "This was all your fault. It was all your plot. It was all your fault."

**A/N – _Alright. Take a moment. Catch your breath. Then read the next chapter._**


	14. Resolution

_Disclaimer - I own no rights to the trademarks or characters herein. I own no rights at all. Thank you._

The crowd made its way out of the courtroom. When the room was all but deserted, Mason began to gather his files and shove them into his attaché' case. A small trio gathered around Mason.

"You saved me!" declared Helen Carmichael. "How did you do it?"

"Out with it, Chief," demanded Della Street. "Where did you get all of that?"

"When did you first begin to suspect Jack Anderson?" asked Paul Drake. "It was long before you had your little talk with Janet Redding, wasn't it?"

"It was," admitted Mason. "I suspected Jack Anderson almost from the beginning. I just wasn't sure."

"How did you suspect him?" asked Helen.

"I suspected everyone," said Mason. "Part of being a good lawyer is keeping an open-mind. I had to consider all possibilities. An obvious possibility was that Bill Anders had been killed by a woman. That was what everyone suspected. Anders had made enemies out of so many women that people had always suspected he would end up being killed by one."

"So you considered the possibility that Bill Anders had been killed by a man?" said Drake.

"Exactly," said Mason. "But not just any man. I had to ask myself if there was a man who had motive to kill Bill Anders. There was. Jack Anderson, the man who stood to inherit Anders' entire company."

"What was the clue that made you certain it was him?" asked Drake.

"Bill Anders' pajamas," stated Mason. His friends looked at him blankly. Mason sighed. "I'll explain. The anonymous letter Hamilton Burger read to the court specifically mentioned Bill Anders' royal blue pajamas. I knew then that whoever wrote that letter wasn't on the train with Helen, Natalie, Kay, and Susan."

"How?"

"I was there. I overheard the entire conversation. The girls never mentioned Bill Anders' pajamas. But both Helen and Anderson mentioned they had discussed the pajamas."

"And I thought I'd actually told Jack less than I had the girls," said Helen.

"Jack Anderson has a way of making people think that. He invited me to his office for a business meeting and I ended up telling him things about my personal life that I had never told anyone else before. Jack Anderson has a skill for making conversation seem so casual that certain details slip out. Details like, I assume, your shoe size, Ms. Carmichael."

Helen nodded.

"During your dinner at Slam Duncan's, you told Jack Anderson all about your plot to murder his partner. If you left any details out, they were details Anderson already knew from his own relationship with Anders. Sometime during dinner, you went to powder your nose, trusting Anderson to look after your purse. He helped himself to a tube of your lipstick, which he later planted in Anders' room.

"Anderson was certain that you had told all of your friends on the train the same details you had told him. His ownunique skill backfired.

"After he had murdered Anders and the trial began, Anderson realized no one was certain you had actually plotted the murder. The anonymous letter was not substantial evidence. Anderson realized that his only chance of framing you was to produce a witness, even if she was a false one. He started hanging around community theaters and met Janet Redding, whom he knew by her stage name, Trixie Powers. With some money and a dye job (from black to red), Janet agreed to claim she had overheard the plot on the train, just as I had."

"That's why you had me confess to plotting Bill!" gasped Helen.

"When I heard that Prosecution was going to call a surprise witness, I suspected that whoever had written that anonymous letter had hired someone to give false testimony."

"You wanted to beat whoever it was to the punch," said Drake.

"There was something else," said Mason. "I wanted to see everyone's reactions."

"They were all the same," said Drake. "Shock and confusion."

"No," said Mason. "There was something else in Anderson's face. He realized that I had taken his next step for him. That's when I _knew_ Anderson was the real killer. I just needed to have other witnesses ready to prove it." He turned to Helen and quoted, "_And the truth shall set you free_."

"I'm sorry I caused you so much trouble," said Helen. "I should have just been honest in the first place."

"It generally is the best policy," said Mason. "But, in your defense, making you testify wasn't the _best_ decision I've ever made in the courtroom."

"Nothing more in my defense," said Helen. "You've done that enough already. I could never find a way to thank you enough…"

She kissed him firmly on both cheeks, leaving bright red prints on his face before she turned and walked away.

Mason sat back in his chair and breathed heavily.

"Tough case," said Mason.

"You'll be bored again soon," said Della. "You're attending another legal convention next week."

"You know what?" said Mason with a smile. "I'm actually looking forward to it."

Della Street and Paul Drake began to move towards the exit as Mason crammed the last of his papers into his case. Mason then followed his friends out of the courthouse, whistling an upbeat tune.

**A/N – _So Perry Mason solves another case. The whistling is overshadowed by the theme music which starts in the background, and we go to the credits._**

**_It's been quite a year-long ride, and I'd like to thank everyone who took it with me. If you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories on the site. I have a "League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" fan novel in progress right now. I'd like to do another Perry Mason fanfic, but considering the work this one took, I'm not making any promises._**

_**Thank you again, and please remember to R & R and let me know what you thought of the finished product.**_

The End


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